Where Your Loyalties Lie
by Tater Chip Girl
Summary: [CHAPTER 10 HERE] As Hermione's Advanced Defense lessons continue, Snape plots to keep from her the secret of the Geminus, and Hermione unlocks a childhood memory that catapults her into a most unexpected place.
1. Severus

Everything about her intrigued and delighted him. Though not easily given to such things, he found the smallest details drew him in - the confident lift of her chin, the way she bit her lip and tapped her quill on the desk when deep in thought. Nor had her beauty escaped his notice. Left to himself, he could easily have stared at her all day. Quite often in the classroom he tore his gaze from her and found someone else to focus on, just so he wouldn't forget himself and falter in the middle of a lecture.

Almost every night now, thoughts of her awakened him - or never let him sleep at all - rising to a fever pitch as he tossed in his bed. Reading didn't help, nor did pacing the room. Taking matters in hand gave him only a brief respite, and never truly satisfied. Finally, unable to stand it any longer, he painstakingly crafted two potions that promised to alleviate this distressing situation once and for all.

For the girl, one that would bind her to him always. That bottle was scarlet, the shade of his secret passion.

For himself, one that would erase that passion from his heart and mind. Deep blue was its color, the hue of peace and forgetfulness.

Each was designed for immediate and permanent effect. Night after night he took them out and watched them glisten, unused, on his table. What to do, what to do...

"Bloody hell," he whispered to no one in particular. "What have I come to..." With each passing day, he felt himself closer to giving in. What had he come to, indeed. Only desperation could have driven him to the use of love potions, for which he felt immeasurable disgust (and which were also banned at Hogwart's). Closing his eyes took away the sight of the two accusing bottles, if only for a moment. He could almost hear the damned things laughing at his quandary.

Though he had recently counted his fortieth year, it seemed to him a century had passed; the object of his desire - and one of his most promising students - had just celebrated her sixteenth birthday.

He'd seen her for the first time five years ago, as she'd climbed shakily up the steps in the main hall. Professor McGonagall waited above, Sorting Hat in hand. For a moment, the girl's nervous eyes had met his - or so it seemed, as she swallowed hard and trailed her frightened gaze down the length of the staff table before turning around and taking her seat on the tall, rickety stool.

_Gryffindor,_ he'd thought as the Hat was lowered onto her head. And of course, she was. What else *could* she be? Even now, she shone with the same light he'd seen in her then, that special radiance possessed only by the pure of heart.

Perhaps he lusted only after that goodness, that clean-scrubbed glow, both of which he had lost long ago - if indeed he'd ever had them.

And ye gods, but she was strong. It made his skin tingle every time he went near her. Mr. Harry Potter might be The Boy Who Lived, but this powerful girl, with the right guidance, might one day be his equal. In fact, he'd put money on it.

Was that it, then? Was *that* what drew him to her?

No, it couldn't be. Had power been his sole craving, he would never have come back from the Dark Side, or given his loyalty to Albus Dumbledore. Nor would he spend his days and nights in a huge, drafty castle, helping tend and educate this enormous flock of juvenile nitwits. What would the Headmaster think if he knew one of his most trusted associates harbored this forbidden desire?

Once more her image danced across his consciousness, taunting him with its untouchability. He leapt up and angrily paced the room, fingers raking through his hair. With each turn, his robes flared out behind him, snapping with the force of his movements. Again and again he whipped past the table, his eyes touching on the potions in their brightly-colored containers.

At last, he'd had enough. This wasn't helping. Veering sharply in mid-stride, he slammed his hands down flat with the two mocking bottles between them. His shoulders heaved with his rapid breathing as it hissed in and out past his tightly clenched teeth.

This was impossible - something had to be done straight away, or he would go bloody insane. His hands made claws of themselves, digging his nails into the wooden surface. He knew what his choice should be - but would he have the strength to make it?

Unbidden, one hand caught up the tiny red bottle and wrapped it in a desperate fist, pressing it to his chest. A little memory charm, a tip of the bottle into her oblivious lips, and she would be his tonight and forever. Faster and faster his heart beat, pounding out the rhythm of his secret obsession -

_Take her, take her, take her..._

"No!" With all his will, he raised his clenched fist and released it, sending the jewel-bright bit of glass hurtling into the fireplace, where it shattered among the flames, its contents sizzling away immediately into harmless steam. Just on the near edge of weeping, he let his knees give way and sank to the floor - whether with relief or regret, he couldn't be sure.

All that remained was to purge himself of this longing, and then it would all be over. No more would his heart leap at the sight of her, or his voluminous robes have to hide the painful evidence of his desire.

Without looking, he slid a trembling hand up onto the table and felt it close around the blue bottle. Slowly he brought it down, eyes still averted, and pulled the stopper. Clasping it to his chest much as he had the other, he hesitated, his eyes widening with sudden realization.

He didn't have to do this. He could wait. Only two years were left until her graduation. Two years, and his suffering could come to an end. That is, if she would have him.

A derisive snort escaped his lips. What was he thinking? By then he'd be forty-two, and she a sweet and succulent eighteen, more comely than she was now - as if that were possible. For some time, she'd been turning the heads of the male students, whether she knew it or not. What the hell would she want with an old git like him, especially one who consistently maltreated her?

Besides, he could never justify drawing an such an innocent into his darkness. It seemed an offence to even think of doing so, though her presence had already rekindled long-hidden parts of him that had once made him almost human. The mere thought of touching her made the iceberg that was his soul almost imperceptibly begin to melt.

But no - strong as it might be, his selfishness was far outweighed by his loyalties. In the end, that decided everything. Raising to his lips the bitter potion that would render him from this night forward immune to her charms, Severus Snape spoke the words that would soon hold no meaning for him at all.

"I love you, Hermione." 

Advanced Double Potions class. Her hand was in the air as usual, waving relentlessly for his attention.

_Is there any bloody thing she *doesn't* already know?_ he sneered to himself (but not without a quick thrill of pride). Snape swept his gaze past Hermione Granger's eager, sparkling eyes - dismissively enough, he hoped.

"Dare I hope," he murmured ominously, "that someone *other* than Miss Granger pays attention in class?" Beside her, Harry Potter shrank in his seat, trying as usual to avoid notice.

"Mr. Potter..."

The boy gulped visibly and blanched a bit at the sound of his name.

_Good. Can't have him getting *too* comfortable, now can we?_

Lip curled in disdain, Snape sinuously advanced on him, prepared to dole out yet another public drubbing. He was careful to keep his robes draped strategically in front of him, concealing his obvious pleasure in the company of Miss Granger. Eyebrow arched in what he hoped was a convincingly imperious manner, Snape forced himself to concentrate on his tirade.

The potion intended to prevent this uncomfortable situation had long since been wiped from the stones of his floor. No sooner had the bottle touched his lips than Snape had gone into a sudden sneezing fit, which sent the delicate vessel flying out of his unsteady hand to shatter uselessly at his knees. Countless tiny slivers of glass had rendered the liquid undrinkable.

Though Fate had intervened and prevented him from following through, he at least had the satisfaction of knowing he'd made the effort. And in his heart of hearts, he was glad - it was literally out of his hands. The choice had been made for him. Nothing for it now but to deal with the situation until he was alone in his rooms again, where the matter could be...tended to. As it would have to be tomorrow, and the day after as well. Not to mention the many days following that.

A new bottle of blue potion waited, locked away in a storeroom behind his office, in case he grew weak again.

To remind him where his loyalties lay.

Severus Snape had a long wait ahead of him. 


	2. Hermione

**[Six months later] **

_I have to do *something*. I can't let this go on._

Hermione Granger rubbed her eyes, then sat back and stared out the library window. She was fairly sure they were red again from her endless hours of research. Despite all her hard work, a solution to her problem still had not presented itself, and her situation was becoming intolerable.

At first, she'd dismissed it as a fleeting affectation that would quickly fade and allow her to once again concentrate on on her studies. To her dismay, there had been no improvement. She lay awake for hours at night, unable to think of anything else, even at home over the summer. Start of term had seen her digging into every Potions and Counterspells book she could get her hands on, certain by then that someone had pulled a nasty magical prank on her. Nothing she tried had the least effect.

_I need help,_ she thought, blinking tiredly at the fading evening light falling across the open book before her. _I need it *now*, before this gets any worse._

Sighing heavily, she closed the book and turned to stuff it into her bag, which was already filled to the bursting point. As she saw it, two options were left to her: another midnight trip to the library's Restricted Section underneath Harry's borrowed Invisibility Cloak, or a dreaded walk to the office of the one person who could conceivably help her.

Neither choice appealed to her. She remembered Harry's experience with the screaming book he'd picked up in the Restricted Section in his first year. So far, her luck had held out, but there was still no guarantee the same thing wouldn't happen to her, and she had no desire to be caught by Filch and risk expulsion.

Then there was Snape. Of all the teachers at Hogwart's, he was the most qualified to help her. Of course, she could always go to Dumbledore, who would doubtless hear her plea, but the nature of her problem would require him to summon the Potions Master anyway.

_So there it is,_ she thought miserably as she made her way past the other studying students. _I have no choice but to go to him. He's the only one who can help me._

Reluctantly, she headed down the hall and began the long trek to Snape's office. Had things been less serious, the irony of her situation would have made her laugh - the one person who could remedy her situation was also the reason she needed help in the first place.


	3. Voldemort

"Come in," Snape muttered testily at the timid knock on his office door. So absorbed was he in the grading of students' written reports (quite badly written, in his opinion), he barely noticed the door swing open, then quietly shut behind his visitor, who stepped in and stood before his desk.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Professor - " she began in a hesitant half-whisper.

Snape looked up in annoyance and almost gasped when he saw who was there. He took a moment to regain his composure, hoping he looked sufficiently stern and forbidding, before trusting himself to speak again.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" he said briskly, lowering his eyes to his desk again. He fervently hoped she couldn't tell that his hand was now shaking as he picked up his quill. "Speak quickly. As you can see, I'm quite busy."

Hermione's throat clicked as she swallowed nervously. "Well...I, uh..."

Snape arched an eyebrow and lowered his quill to glare at the girl.

"Well..." she said again, fiddling with her robe. "Actually...I need your help with something."

"So..." Snape's head tilted to the side a bit, his voice taking on its familiar mocking tone. "For once, Miss-Know-It-All has no answer. I shall certainly note *this* day on my calendar."

Hermione's brow knit with frustration. It was bad enough she had to come to him at all, and he wasn't making things any easier. Best get on with it, so she could get out of here as soon as possible. She cast her eyes around the room, trying hard not to cry, but a tear escaped and made a shiny trail down her cheek. She rubbed it away viciously with the back of her hand and forced herself to look at Snape.

"I'm serious," she said, rather more forcefully than she'd intended. "I think someone's cast a spell on me, or slipped me a potion, or something, and I..." She shook her head helplessly as her voice trailed off.

"And you...what?" Snape's eyes narrowed as he leaned forward, suddenly feeling very...possessive? Protective? He quickly reminded himself that she wasn't his to either possess *or* protect.

"I've tried dozens of counterspells and potions, and none of them worked." She paused and swallowed again before continuing. "I didn't want to bother you with this, but I really don't know what else to do."

A long moment dragged by as Snape settled back into his chair and regarded her through still-narrowed eyes. Another tear trickled down her face, and she let it go as she waited for him to say something.

Snape's mind threw up an image of himself leaning down to wipe it away, saying _Don't worry, I'll take care of everything..._ He shoved it away and hardened his expression.

"And what, precisely, do you want *me* to do?"

She wiped the tear away finally and sniffed. "I was thinking...maybe I did something wrong, with the counterspells and things, and that's why they didn't work." Her eyes skittered back and forth over Snape's face, looking for the smallest sign she was getting through to him. "I thought maybe you'd know a way to...reverse the effect, or something, get rid of this...whatever it is."

"I see." His forefinger tapped out a slow, precise rhythm on the desktop as his black eyes glittered at her. He steepled his fingers and touched them to his chin. After a painfully long moment, he spoke again. "Tell me, Miss Granger - since you seem to know *almost* everything - perhaps you can enlighten me as to how you reached your conclusion?" Snape's eyebrows shot up in a mockingly quizzical fashion as he waited for her answer.

"Con - conclusion?" Hermione stammered, shaking her head.

Snape heaved a pained sigh. "In other words, Miss Granger, by what brilliant chain of reasoning did you deduce that you are the victim of a spell?"

Hermione stared at the floor, her face going bright crimson. She worked her mouth as if about to say something, but Snape heard only soundless puffs of air.

"Kindly speak up. I haven't got all day," he snapped at her.

She swallowed a few times, then forced herself to look up again. After a few deep breaths, she was able to speak. "Well...I think someone's slipped me a...uh...love potion."

Snape gave a snort of disgust. "How delightfully juvenile." His nostrils flared as he continued, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I take it, then, that you are "in love"?

With a sigh of resignation, Hermione closed her eyes and nodded.

"A malady to which young people are unfortunately all too prone, in my opinion." Snape said snidely. "Which brings us, Miss Granger, back to my original question."

"Uh...which one, sir?" Hermione's voice was trembling.

"Given the notoriously rampant nature of youthful infatuation," he sneered, "What precisely about this "love" has led you to label it a result of magical interference? Especially," he added, "Since love potions are forbidden at Hogwart's?"

She blew out a shaky breath as she considered how to answer. "Well..." she began, "It's just that...the person that I'm, you know..." She dared a glance back up at Snape, then quickly looked away again.

"That you're "in love" with, yes..." Snape gestured impatiently for her to go on.

"This person," she continued, "Is someone I, uh...well...who's...unlikely, if you know what I mean."

Snape sat forward a bit, apparently enjoying her discomfort. "No..." he said, tapping his fingertips together. "What *do* you mean, Miss Granger?"

_Please let this end soon,_ she thought desperately.

"Someone I...don't get along with," she said softly. "In fact, I know he doesn't like me at all. And then it started so suddenly...one day I just looked at him, and - " Hermione gave an embarrassed shrug, unable to finish.

"And when did this - " Snape waved a hand dismissively - "Obsession...of yours begin?"

"Uh...a few months ago," she lied, cringing slightly. "I - I thought it would go away on its own, so I waited before I tried any counterspells."

Settling into his chair again, Snape regarded her with what looked like amusement. "And so, here you are."

Hermione stepped closer to his desk, her trembling hands clasped tightly to her stomach. "Please help me, Professor. I really don't know what else to do. You're the only one who can do something about this."

Snape narrowed his eyes again, more to disguise his feelings than to show them. The girl was clearly in distress. And knowing what he did of Hermione Granger, she was more often to be found giving help than seeking it. The sight of her standing before him, wringing her hands and begging with tear-filled eyes, came very close to breaking what little was left of his heart.

_You fool,_ he told himself harshly, _Letting a mere schoolgirl affect you this way. Give her what she needs and get her the hell out of here before you do something stupid._

Snape pushed himself abruptly to his feet and stared at her for a moment before speaking. "Wait here."

Hermione watched nervously as he disappeared into the next room. She heard the sound of keys, a cabinet door opening, bottles clinking against each other as Snape searched through them. He returned a moment later carrying a small stoppered bottle made of brown glass. As he walked around to the front of his desk, she turned to face him, setting her bag full of books on the floor behind her.

"Drink this." He handed her the bottle, careful not to let their fingers touch.

She stared fearfully at the bottle before looking back up at him. "What does it do, exactly?"

"It's a counter-potion," he explained, a bit more patiently than she'd expected. "The strongest of its kind available. If these - feelings of yours were caused by magical intervention, this will reverse its effect."

"And if...if they're real?"

"Then it will do nothing."

"Right." Hermione returned her gaze to the bottle in her hand. "Right," she repeated, turning the bottle back and forth. She tried to remove the glass stopper, but to no avail - her fingers were slick with nervous moisture.

"Give me that." Snape snatched the bottle away and pulled out the stopper with a deft motion, depositing it on his desk and holding the bottle out for her to take. When she did, her hand shook so badly she almost dropped it.

"Careful..." Snape's hand closed around hers, holding it still. "This is my only bottle. Spill this, and you'll have to wait another two weeks while I prepare a new batch." With great effort, he kept his own hand from trembling as well.

"Sorry..." she whispered. Funny, how warm his skin was. From the look of him, she'd assumed his touch would be clammy and cold, given all the time he spent in the dungeon.

"Alright?" he asked, almost kindly. "Have you got it?"

Hermione nodded, and Snape let go. Her hand started shaking again immediately. She tried unsuccessfully to lift the bottle to her mouth, and a few drops splashed out and landed on the stone floor.

Snape grabbed her hand again. "This isn't working." She shot him a nervous glance, fully expecting one of his trademark tirades.

"I'll help you hold it still," he said calmly, taking her by surprise. "You bend down, close your lips around the bottle, and tilt it back into your mouth." He waited as Hermione did as he'd instructed, releasing her hand so she could drink the contents. Her dry throat constricted as the bitter liquid went down, and she started coughing sharply.

Snape took the bottle and set it on his desk beside a pitcher, from which he poured her a glass of water. Hermione drank it greedily, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her robe afterwards.

"That was *horrible*!" she rasped, her face screwed up in disgust as she coughed a few more times.

"I never said it would be pleasant," Snape replied stiffly, taking the glass from her. "I said only that it would work."

Hermione sniffed and wiped at her eyes, which had watered from her coughing fit. "How long until it starts working?" she asked, her voice a bit stronger now.

Snape replaced the bottle's stopper and set the empty container back on his desk. "It should take effect immediately."

"Oh..." Hermione's eyes moved back and forth, focusing on nothing, as she appeared to listen suspensefully to some inner voice. A small frown creased her brow.

"Well?" Snape stood stonily before her, arms crossed over his chest.

Her frown deepened, and a look of confusion crossed her face. "I...I don't understand..." she whispered, shaking her head. "Nothing happened." Hermione raised her alarmed eyes to search Snape's face. "It didn't *do* anything."

Snape responded only with a raised eyebrow and a slight sideways tilt of his head.

"What's it supposed to feel like? I mean..." Hermione unconsciously placed a hand over her heart. "Do the feelings just - go away, like they were never there?"

"They should." Snape unfolded his arms and reached out with one hand to tilt the girl's head back as he turned her face from side to side, examining it closely. "Assuming, as I said, that your feelings were indeed magically induced." He studied her intently for a moment. "Have your feelings changed?"

Hermione's throat constricted with another tense swallow before she replied. "No."

Snape released her chin. "Then it appears, Miss Granger, that they are genuine - something I'm sure the object of your affections will be most pleased to hear."

"I can't tell him." Hermione looked about to cry again, but managed to maintain her composure. "He'd just laugh in my face."

"Pity." Snape was about to continue when his eyes suddenly hardened, and he let out a hiss of pain, his right hand flying up to grasp his left forearm. Hermione jumped a little, her eyes fixed on the spot he covered.

Snape massaged the inside of his arm, clearly trying to hide his distress. "You're dismissed, Miss Granger," he growled from behind clenched teeth.

"It hurts you," she whispered, watching his hand move. "The Dark Mark - he hurts you with it, doesn't he?"

Now it was Snape's turn to be alarmed. "You don't know what you're talking about. Now please leave!"

Hermione looked up again, taking in Snape's barely disguised agony. "I know you have it," she pressed. "I saw it in the hospital wing, right after Cedric Diggory died."

He hissed again and clenched his teeth harder, tightening his grip on the offending arm. "Get out!" His face gave up its struggle for composure, contorting as another wave of pain sent him to his knees before the desk.

"Oh my god..." Hermione knelt in front of him, her hands fluttering desperately, moving to touch him, then pulling back. "What should I do? Should I call Dumbledore?"

"No!" Snape managed to grind out between agonized gasps. "Get out, just get out, damn you!"

Hermione's hands went to her mouth, then stretched out to hover in midair. She knew something had to be done, but she wasn't sure what.

_Pull up his sleeve,_ some instinct told her. _Expose the Mark._

Hardly able to believe what she was doing, Hermione obeyed the silent voice within her, grasping Snape's left wrist firmly in one hand and yanking back the long sleeve of his jacket with the other.

"What are you...doing?" Snape gasped, too gripped by pain to try and stop her. "Are you...mad? Get...out!"

Her eyes widened as the Dark Mark of Lord Voldemort - a skull with a Slytherin serpent emerging from its mouth - came into view. Two years earlier, she'd heard Snape tell Cornelius Fudge that the Mark turned black and burned like fire when the Dark Lord turned his attention towards those who bore it. From what she saw, there could be no doubt where Voldemort's focus now lay.

Driven by the same inexplicable instinct, Hermione pressed her palm to the Mark, closing her eyes and gripping Snape's forearm as tightly as she could. She blanched as the thing made contact with her skin. The sensation it caused was beyond description, a wildly fluctuating mixture of white heat and icy chill that rattled her very bones.

_"Lumos Cardia!"_ she whispered.

Snape stiffened and sucked in a long, ragged breath. Though his eyes were open, he saw nothing - his mind was taken over by something he had no words for, as though he had stepped from frigid darkness into a brilliant shaft of sunlight. It pierced him with a golden purity that left him breathless.

The force assaulting Snape was doing its level best to throw Hermione off and have its way with him, but she held on, gritting her teeth as she willed her hand to grip harder and harder. Her arm vibrated all the way to the shoulder, and waves of nausea coursed through her.

Gathering all her strength, Hermione gave a giant mental shove, and the force responded, driving an icy spike of pain through her body before snatching itself away with incredible violence. Hermione gasped and opened her eyes to the shocked face of Severus Snape floating before her. Releasing his arm, she forced herself to back up and start crawling - about four feet away, near the corner of his office, the contents of her stomach came up. Again and again her gut contracted, splattering a noxious black substance onto the bare stone.

In stunned silence, Snape watched her, not even turning away from the foul stench of her vomit. He knew that odor all too well, having produced it himself on many occasions. Only the touch of the Dark Lord could wring such a fluid from a living body.

But what the hell had just happened? By all rights, Snape should be in her place right now. Instead, his body trembled with tiny thrills, remnants of the light that had flooded and blinded him only seconds ago. When Hermione finally stopped gagging, she spit a few times, then sat up on her knees and scooted away from the vile pool on the floor.

With some effort, Snape made himself speak. "What did you do?" he whispered. "What the bloody hell did you do?"

Hermione wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her robe. "I don't know." She looked up to find Snape's face going in and out of focus as he stared at her with an expression of fearful wonder. She blinked a few times, trying to merge the wavering images of two Snapes back into one, but without success.

"I don't feel very well," she said weakly, and tumbled forward, landing on her elbows.

_Oh, that feels so good,_ she thought as her forehead pressed against the cool stone. All she wanted to do was stay still, right where she was, but that awful vomit smell was going to make her sick again if she didn't move soon.

"Miss Granger." Snape's voice sounded very far away, and echoed oddly. Hermione felt his hands on her, taking her by the arms and making her sit up.

"Hermione," he said, a bit louder this time. "Can you stand? We have to get you to the hospital wing."

She nodded, and he pulled her up slowly and carefully, holding her by the upper arms. As soon as she reached her feet, she started swaying dangerously, and her knees gave way, sending her tumbling against him. Snape swung her up into his arms and held her for a moment, looking around the room as he decided what to do next. With a quick glance at the pool of vomit, he carried Hermione into the next room and deposited her gently on the floor. She made no sound, just lay blinking deliriously at her surroundings.

"Miss Granger," he said firmly, patting her face and making her look at him. "I'm going to leave you here for a moment. Stay still and be quiet. I'll be back soon." He patted her face again. "Do you understand me?" Hermione nodded, and he returned to his office, closing the door behind him. Straightening his robes and running a quick hand through his hair, he made his way briskly through the Potions classroom and into the hallway, where he looked for a teacher. There were none, and he had no time to wait.

"You there," Snape called out, pointing at a passing third-year. "Come here."

The lone boy stopped and looked around nervously. "Uh..me, sir?"

Snape's lips tightened in irritation. "I see no one standing beside you. Come here immediately," he snapped, gesturing impatiently.

The student approached him fearfully. "What did I do, sir?"

"I need you to carry a message for me," Snape said, ignoring the question. "I trust you'll be able to remember it?"

"Yes, sir."

"My message is for the Headmaster. I would like Professor Dumbledore to meet me in the hospital wing."

The boy nodded. "Yes, sir."

"What is your name?" Snape asked him.

"Roger Davies, sir. Ravenclaw House."

"Now, repeat the message to me."

Davies did so correctly.

"Very good, Mr. Davies. Now go and deliver it immediately," Snape said, with a backwards glance at his open office door. "Ten points to Ravenclaw if you do so with sufficient speed."

Davies' face brightened at this unexpected incentive from the feared Potions Master. "Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!"

When the boy was out of sight, Snape returned to his office and the room where he'd left Hermione. She hadn't moved, and looked up groggily when he walked in. Once again, he lifted her into his arms, settling her head as comfortably as possible on his shoulder. With a few whispered words, he locked the office door, then carried the girl further back into his storage rooms. Snape knew just about every shortcut in Hogwart's; one of them went directly from his offices to the hospital wing.

Hermione's head lolled against him as he walked. Somewhere in her mental fog, she became aware of a faint, but pleasant herbal scent. She breathed in deeply a few times before she realized it was coming from Snape's hair, which was just the right length that it tickled her nose. The side of her face was pressed into the silky fabric of his robe, her mouth positioned right next to his ear.

"You smell so good..." she murmured, rolling her face closer to his hair.

If Snape had any reaction to her words, he hid it well, never missing a stride as they advanced towards the hospital wing.

A concerned Dumbledore was waiting when Snape arrived. Together, they laid Hermione on a bed at the far end of the room as Madam Pomfrey approached them.

"Well, what have we here?" she said, her tone efficient and professional.

Dumbledore held up a hand. "In a moment, Poppy. I'll call you when we're ready."

The woman's eyes went from Dumbledore to Snape to the figure of the girl on the bed. "Are you quite sure, sir?"

"Yes, thank you."

Reluctantly, but with a respectful nod, Madam Pomfrey retreated, still looking worriedly at Hermione. Dumbledore waited until she was far enough away to give them some privacy, using those few seconds to discreetly study Snape, whose eyes were fixed on Hermione's face.

"Severus." Snape didn't look up when the Headmaster said his name. Dumbledore waited a moment, then loudly cleared his throat, making him jump.

"What happened?" Dumbledore said quietly. "Tell me everything."

As Snape related the events that had taken place in his office, Dumbledore watched him closely, noting especially the nervous movements of his hand, which danced unconsciously atop the mattress towards Hermione's as if he meant to grasp it, then pulled back at the last second. It was clear to him that Snape was not, in fact, telling him everything.

It was equally clear that some profound change had taken place in the man. He wore the air of one whose heretofore ironclad beliefs had been unceremoniously ripped asunder without warning, leaving him struggling with a new and terrible truth. When Snape had finished his story, Dumbledore reached down and placed a hand on Hermione's forehead, and the two men stood in silence for a few moments.

Hermione moaned and opened her eyes drowsily, trying to focus on Dumbeldore's face. "Where am I?"

"In the hospital wing," he said quietly. "Don't worry, my dear, everything's alright."

Hermione rolled her head to the other side and saw Snape's shadowy figure standing over her. For a split second, her vision cleared enough to reveal the fearful expression he wore. But it was more than just that...his eyes were filled with a desperate longing, like a thirsty man looking at a glass of cool water.

Hermione blinked and frowned as her vision clouded again. "Am I dreaming?" she whispered.

"Sshhh, be still," Dumbledore said gently. He gave her hand a squeeze, then turned and signalled to Madam Pomfrey that they were ready for her.

"What's happened to her?" she asked upon reaching the girl's bedside.

"Nothing a good night's rest won't cure," he smiled. "Bring something to make her sleep."

"Yes, sir."

"I want Professor Snape to remain with her a while," he added. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Snape's head snap up. "You are to let him stay as long as he feels is necessary."

Madam Pomfrey frowned at the bending of visiting rules, but didn't argue. "Of course. I'll fetch the sleeping draught."

When she had gone, Dumbledore walked around the bed to stand beside Snape. "Given the nature of what has happened," he whispered, "Your help will be needed in her recovery."

"What should I do?" Snape whispered back, his hand doing its unwitting dance on the mattress again.

"Stay with her," Dumbledore answered. "It will come to you."

Snape turned to him, frowning, a question on his lips, but Madam Pomfrey chose that moment to return, bearing a small cup in her hand.

"Would one of you help her sit up, please?"

Dumbeldore stepped back, gesturing for Snape to comply with Madam Pomfrey's request. With great care, he slid his arm underneath Hermione's shoulders and brought her to a sitting position, holding her firmly so she wouldn't flop back down on the bed.

"Come now, dear, drink this up." Hermione managed to open her eyes halfway as the cup was pressed to her lips. She felt a tender hand tilting her chin up as her mouth was opened. "There you go, there's a good girl..." When all the liquid was gone, Snape lowered her onto the bed again.

"She should sleep through the night now," said Madam Pomfrey. "Will you be needing anything, Professor?"

"No, thank you," Snape answered distantly.

As Madam Pomfrey walked away, Dumbledore waved a hand, conjuring up a set of tall, thick curtains and swishing them closed around Hermione's bed. They hung in midair, high enough so that no one could see over them, and their hems rested on the floor, effectively creating a private room.

"Dinner should be ready soon." Dumbledore stepped away and parted the curtains. "I'll make your excuses, and have a meal sent up for you."

"I'm not hungry," Snape muttered, still staring at the slumbering girl.

"You haven't a choice in the matter," said Dumbledore. "You need your strength, for her sake as well as your own." He paused for a long moment to look back at Hermione's still and shadowy form. "When Miss Granger has recovered, you are to come to my office immediately. We have important matters to discuss."

"Yes, sir."

"Good night, then."

"Good night."

The curtain closed for the last time, and Snape was finally alone with Hermione, pondering the Headmaster's mysterious words to him.

_Stay with her, it will come to you,_ he'd said when Snape asked how he should help Hermione. What the hell did that mean?

With an exhausted sigh, Snape went to the chair on the left side of the bed and pulled it closer so he could see her clearly as he sat with her. He felt so tired suddenly, as if all his remaining energy had gone down a giant drain. 

He always felt this way after any contact with Voldemort; it took a great deal of skill and attention to conceal from the Dark Lord the fact that his loyalties lay with Dumbledore. But this time was different. This time, Hermione had somehow managed to deflect Voldemort's attack to herself, absorbing in Snape's stead the flood of evil energy that came with it. Although powerful, she didn't have Snape's years of advanced training in self-defense - hence her weakened condition.

_But what more can I do?_ thought Snape, watching her shadowy, sleeping face. _I'm no healer. Who knows what kind of damage he's done to her?_

Leaning forward, he reached out and took Hermione's left hand in his own, and was shocked to find it deathly cold. He quickly moved his hand up her arm, and discovered that it felt the same. Pressing her chilled hand between his own, he rubbed it vigorously, and his roving thumb brushed the spot that had touched the Dark Mark as she'd held onto his arm. It was colder still, as if the center of her palm had been replaced by a piece of ice.

Impulsively, Snape raised her hand and held the icy spot to his lips. He shuddered at the sensation, which was very like that of the Dark Mark itself at its worst. The drain on his energy seemed to suddenly increase, and he had to fight to keep his eyes open. Despite his efforts, he felt his head start to fall forward onto the bed. His eyelids lost their battle and finally closed as an odd mixture of memories floated through his tired brain.

Ugly scenes from his days as a Death Eater went by in a frantic rush, as if his mind couldn't wait to shove them back into their hiding place.

Next, he found himself in the dining hall, watching from the staff table as a first-year student, a dark-haired girl, mounted the steps during the Sorting Ceremony. Her eyes quickly swept the faces of the assembled teachers, seeming to linger on his for just a second.

_She's full of light,_ he remembered thinking.

Then himself, alone in his rooms, clutching a tiny red bottle and forcing himself to smash it in the fireplace. And the sudden attack of sneezing that had knocked from his hand the potion intended to snuff out his love for Hermione.

_Love,_ he thought drowsily. _I love you, Hermione._ He'd said those very words that night, supposedly for the last time.

Vaguely, Snape realized that his head had been resting on the bed for a while now, and Hermione's hand was still firmly in his own. He couldn't be sure in his current condition, but it seemed to him that some of the chill had left it. Good. That meant she was getting better.

He thought he heard an echo in his mind of Hermione's voice speaking ancient words of power, words she should not yet know, but they came to him through a fog. As he strained to pick them out, sleep finally took him.


	4. Lumos Cardia

Snape opened his eyes to almost total darkness, pulled gradually towards consciousness by the savory aroma of a hot meal. From just outside the curtains surrounding Hermione's bed came the sound of quick, light footsteps. He sat up and blinked as they parted to admit a small figure bearing a lamp in one hand and guiding a filled and floating dinner tray with the other.

"Sir is awake. Very good. Dobby has brought him a big dinner."

The house elf guided the tray to hover before Snape and set the lamp on the small table at the foot of the bed. He wore his usual mad mixture of garments, this time sporting a cast-off pair of Quidditch trousers, which were tightly belted and rolled up several times to reveal his garish, mismatched socks.

"Professor Dumbledore says you must eat, sir. Dobby must stay until you've finished."

Snape rubbed his eyes as they grew accustomed to the glow of the lamp. He started to say that he wasn't hungry, thank you, and ask Dobby to take away the food, but realized suddenly that he was actually ravenous. His stomach rumbled loudly as he picked up the the fork and, without a word, dug into his dinner as though he hadn't eaten in a week.

Dobby moved to the opposite side of Hermione's bed and climbed up to kneel beside her, his face full of concern. With tentative finger, he touched her between the eyes, then gasped and drew back his hand as if bitten.

"A bad wizard, a Dark wizard hurt the young miss, sir," he said, shaking his head mournfully. "Dobby knows. Dobby feels things."

Snape swallowed a bite of food and washed it down with a swig of pumpkin juice. "You're to say nothing, do you understand? No one is to know about this."

"Of course, sir. Dobby has been told by Professor Dumbledore. Dobby keeps his master's secrets." The tiny house elf slid off the bed and stood watching the sleeping girl. "Dobby is hoping miss will be better soon."

"She will." Snape shoved a forkful of food into his mouth and gazed at her too. She hadn't moved at all. The only sign of life was the regular rise and fall of her chest.

"Hermione Granger is Dobby's friend," the little creature continued softly, his huge eyes still on her face. "She is wanting to do good things for house elves, but house elves are not wanting to change things. They are not wanting paying like Dobby." He gave a sad little sigh. "But house elves are liking Hermione Granger. She teaches them new things to cook."

Snape shot the house elf a quizzical look. "She teaches you to cook?" he mumbled between bites of his dinner.

"Oh, yes sir!" Dobby nodded excitedly. "She is very much enjoying cooking with us. House elves are learning many new recipes from Hermione Granger, and she is also learning from them."

"I see." Snape wondered if what he was eating was one of those recipes, but at the moment it didn't really matter. All he could think about was getting it inside him. Dumbledore had been right to insist that he eat. He couldn't remember ever being this hungry before, and in short order he had emptied the tray of every edible thing it contained, as well as drained an entire pitcher of iced pumpkin juice. When he'd finished, Dobby came to stand beside him and examine the tray.

"Very good, sir. Professor Dumbledore says you are needing your strength to help the young miss get well." Dobby guided the floating tray away from Snape and picked up the lamp. "Dobby is going now, sir. Is sir wanting anything else?"

"No, thank you." Snape sat back and ran his fingers through his hair. "What time is it?"

"Eight o'clock, sir."

Snape yawned and rubbed his eyes again. He had the feeling he needed to do something, but what was it? Ah, yes - that awful, smelly mess in his office. It had to be dealt with before the odor seeped into the Potions classroom.

"Take a message to the Headmaster for me," he said, rising from his chair and stretching. "Tell him I have a small matter to attend to in my office. I should return in half an hour, at most."

"Yes, sir. Dobby will tell him right away."

Snape pushed open the curtains and left the house elf to his duties. He couldn't stop thinking about the sensation that had flooded him when Hermione grabbed his arm during Voldemort's attack. He'd never felt anything remotely like it. Even now, just remembering, his body responded, tiny thrills running through him and dancing over his skin. What the hell *had* she done? Snape seemed to remember her saying something, an incantation, but he couldn't remember the words.

So busy was his mind with this task that he was actually startled when he found himself standing absently at the locked door leading into his offices. The smell hit him as soon as he opened it. Good thing he'd come now, if it was already this bad. The vile pool on his floor had thickened, and the odor in the room was so strong it almost brought up his dinner.

With a flick of his wand and a few quick words, Snape cleaned the floor and sent a fresh fragrance whirling through the air, underneath the door into the classroom (just in case) and into his back rooms. Hermione's bag still sat on the floor before his desk, lying on its side with books spilling out of it. She'd probably knocked it over when she crawled away to throw up.

Snape knelt to gather the books, glancing at the titles as he picked them up. Most were textbooks for her classes, along with reference works from which she'd gotten her counterspells. The last one one, however, caught Snape by surprise. It was small, and much older than the rest. And judging by its title, clearly from the library's Restricted section.

Setting down the stack of books he held, he flipped through the little volume. He knew this book - its contents were meant for advanced defense against the worst kinds of Dark Magic. It was never intended for the eyes of Hogwart's students, not even seventh-years. Only full graduates, and rigorously tested ones at that, would ever be allowed to use it, usually after several years of highly specialized post-graduate training. How the hell had she gotten her hands on it?

He leafed through the pages, noting that Hermione had bookmarked several places with small bits of parchment. One of them fell open, and Snape's eyes almost leaped out of his head. He read the marked page in disbelief.

_No, it can't be. It's not possible._

He read it through again, just to be sure, then flipped quickly through the rest of the book, stopping here and there as he ran his forefinger down the page, checking the description, effect and requirements of each incantation. Finally, he gave up and sat down heavily on the floor, shaking his head and staring sightlessly at the book he held.

_Impossible, impossible, _was all he could think.

He raised a trembling hand to his mouth. Now he knew how Hermione had protected him from Voldemort, and he knew what had to be done to complete her recovery. The question was, could he actually do it? In a flash, he was on his feet, still carrying the spellbook. He tucked it into a pocket of his robes and practically ran back through his offices and to the hospital wing.

He tore open the curtains around the bed and closed them roughly behind him. Dobby was long gone, and Hermione lay just as Snape her left her. Almost timidly, he approached the bed, his heart pounding as he clasped his badly trembling hands before him. He was about to do something he'd never done before; in fact, up to this moment, he hadn't had the ability. When he checked her left arm, he found it had lost a great deal of its chill. It felt almost normal again, but the icy spot in the center of her palm hadn't gone away.

_Please let this work, _he begged silently as he leaned over Hermione's unconscious form and laid his hands on her head. Snape closed his eyes and concentrated, gathering his strength. After a few slow, deep breaths, he spoke the healing words.

_"Lumos Cardia."_

When Dumbledore entered his office little less than an hour later, Snape was waiting for him, his face looking quite drawn and paler than usual as he paced the room.

He sat down behind his desk and motioned Snape to take the chair across from him. "I take it Miss Granger has improved?"

"Yes, Headmaster," said Snape. "She's sleeping comfortably."

"Good, good." Dumbledore nodded and took a long, thoughtful pause before speaking again.

"Is there anything more you wish to tell me about what happened in your office today?"

Snape went beet red and cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. He reached into his robes and produced the small volume of incantations he'd found among Hermione's books. "Her bag was still there. This was in it."

Dumbledore took the little book and flipped through it, pausing to briefly examine each bookmarked page. Finally, he closed it and sat gazing at it for a long time. "You realize, of course, that she is not out of danger_."_

Snape swallowed hard and tightened his lips. "Yes."

"Voldemort may not fully understand what happened and why, but Miss Granger's successful repulsion of his attack has no doubt gotten his attention," he continued. "It's only a matter of time until he discovers who she is and what she is capable of. And that, as we know, will make her very appealing to him indeed. He would count himself fortunate to bring such a one to his side. Or failing that..."

He stopped and gave Snape a serious look. The Potions Master briefly met Dumbledore's eyes and nodded his understanding.

"She must be protected at all costs," Dumbledore went on. "I will, of course, do my part, but you must be her primary guardian."

Snape looked up in surprise. "Me?"

"Indeed." Dumbledore nodded gravely. "We both know that you would have survived Voldemort's attack, but Miss Granger was unaware of that fact. She risked her life to defend you, and for that you owe her your thanks, at the very least."

Snape looked down at his hands, which had unconsciously balled into fists. "Of course." He forced his hands to open and lie flat on his thighs. "And I shall certainly express my gratitude."

"You certainly shall," said Dumbledore, "By keeping her from further harm."

Just then, the book in Dumbledore's hands gave a loud pop and burst into a puff of dust, which settled on the desktop along with the bits of parchment Hermione had used as bookmarks. Dumbledore stared at the mess for a few seconds, then carefully brushed the residue from his hands.

"It seems," he said, "That our Miss Granger has used a duplication spell of some sort to make a temporary copy of the book." With a forefinger, he poked through the dust pile.

"No doubt she has already made written copies of the bookmarked items." He chuckled and shook his head. "Quite clever, I must say."

The corner of Snape's mouth twitched as he suppressed a smile of his own.

Dumbledore sat back and sighed, growing serious once more. "Of course, this means that the Restricted section must be placed under tighter security. We simply cannot have untrained students dabbling in this level of sorcery. It is not to be trifled with."

Snape cleared his throat. "And how is Miss Granger to be - dealt with regarding this matter?"

"We will say nothing," Dumbledore replied. "Our silence will make her believe we found nothing more of the book than the pile of dust we now see. "She will then have no cause for alarm, and we can more easily keep watch on her."

"But what about the spells she's copied?" asked Snape. "How do we prevent her from using them?"

Dumbledore nodded and stroked his beard. "A fair question. But one, I think, that need not concern us."

"A memory charm would guarantee - "

"Hear me out, Severus." Dumbledore interrupted, holding up a hand for silence. "Based on what I know of her character, and on her conduct today, I'm confident that she would never take such power lightly, nor would she misuse it or allow it to fall into the wrong hands. Wouldn't you agree?"

Snape thought this over, then nodded slowly. "Yes. I would," he said quietly. "But still - "

"Good. It's settled, then." Dumbledore rose and walked around the desk. Snape stood as he approached.

"I have no doubt in your ability to protect her," he said softly, patting Snape's shoulder. "She's in good hands."

Snape blushed again and opened his mouth to speak, but Dumbledore interrupted him.

"Go to your quarters, Severus, and get some rest."

"But what about Hermione - Miss Granger?" he corrected himself quickly.

"That was an order - *not* an invitation." Dumbledore fixed him with a stern glare. "Miss Granger will be just fine on her own now. You need time to recover, just as she does. Now go."

After a moment of hesitation, Snape gave a small, respectful nod and moved towards the door.

"Severus."

Snape turned back at the sound of his name.

"You may go and see her in the morning, if you like. She should be awake then."

Snape gave another quick nod and left. His heart leaped crazily as he walked to his rooms, the night's events replaying again and again in his head. He shuddered, recalling the glorious light that had pierced his soul, shielding him from Voldemort.

_You *know* what that was,_ his mind nagged at him.

He knew. There was no more fooling himself into believing otherwise.

Alone at last in his rooms, he went absently through the familiar nightly routine - hanging his robes, building up the fire, changing into his nightclothes and dressing gown. He sat before the hearth, watching the dancing flames as they warmed him.

Now, with nothing else to demand his attention, he fell into his thoughts. His mind took him back to that moment of stunning revelation, when he'd picked up the forbidden spellbook that had spilled from Hermione's bag. When the pages had fallen open to one of her bookmarks, a certain extremely powerful incantation.

It was ancient, so old that none now lived who remembered where it came from, or who had been the first to perform it or write it down. Like many of the other spells in that small volume, its successful performance required a very particular set of circumstances. So potent was its power, no Dark Wizard could make a counterspell for it, though many had tried.

The _Lumos Cardia,_ it was, in strength and rarity second only to the _Dono Vitae,_ which required an even more particular set of circumstances, and could be performed only once in a witch or wizard's lifetime.

For the _Dono Vitae_ was the Gift of Life, whereby one's own life force was willingly relinquished to protect a loved one from a Dark Curse. Such a spell, spoken with his mother's final breath, had once saved the life of Harry Potter.

A loud pop from the fireplace yanked Snape out of his reverie. He tried to focus again on the flames, but his vision was blurred by the wetness in his eyes. With a shaking hand, he wiped away the tears, only to have more take their place. The whole night was like a crazy dream - he couldn't help imagining that he'd wake in the morning, and everything would be back to normal.

_But I didn't imagine any of it,_ he thought.

There was no longer any doubt that Hermione Granger had indeed performed the _Lumos Cardia_ in his defense. Although Snape had withheld certain details of the events in his office, it was clear that Dumbledore had read between the lines and reached the same conclusion.

And from that conclusion logically followed another - that the person performing the spell had in fact met the very particular set of requirements that ensured its success.

Snape leaned forward and dropped his head into his hands, letting the tears come freely now. Never had he imagined that such a thing was possible - but it had long since passed the point of denial, even for him.

_She loves me._


	5. Gratitude

Morning found Hermione Granger blinking herself slowly awake in what looked like a big tunnel of dark fabric. A few minutes (and many blinks) later, she could see well enough to determine that she was in a bed surrounded by a set of tall, thick drapes that appeared to be hanging in midair. The high ceiling was visible far above them, reflecting the morning sun just enough to create a pleasant glow.

She took a few deep breaths and yawned, idly wondering where she was and how she'd gotten here. Someone was holding her left hand and rubbing her palm. Hermione turned her head and was amazed to find Severus Snape sitting beside her bed.

"Where am I?" she asked sleepily.

Snape released her hand and sat back in his chair. "In the hospital wing."

She gave him a confused look. "Why? What happened?"

"You don't remember?"

"Well..." Hermione looked around, her frown deepening. "I had this odd dream...you were there, and Professor Dumbledore too...I *think* it was a dream..."

"It wasn't."

"Why are you here?" she finally thought to ask. "Am I in trouble?"

"No," Snape answered quietly, not looking at her.

"How did I get here?" she yawned.

He heard her voice again, inches from his ear, saying _You smell so good _as he carried her out of his office and through the dark tunnels.

"I brought you."

"Why?"

"We'll discuss it later, when you're more awake."

The curtains parted, and a tray floated through.

"Ah." Snape was glad to change the subject. "Here's Dobby with breakfast."

The house elf himself appeared after pushing a second tray through the opening. "Good morning, Professor Snape! Good morning, Hermione Granger! Dobby is so happy you are better!" he said cheerfully. "Dobby is bringing you a big breakfast, for you to be strong again."

"Good morning, Dobby," yawned Hermione, pushing herself into a sitting position. The second she moved, Snape leapt up with a startled look and stretched out his hands as if to brace her from a fall.

"Are you alright?" he asked worriedly. "Are you dizzy? Are you in pain?"

She shook her head, puzzled and taken aback by his uncharacteristic concern. "No...I'm fine, thank you."

"Are you sure?" Snape's hands still hovered nervously before him, his eyes searching her face.

"Quite...sure, thank you..." she answered slowly. She didn't know quite what to make of Snape's behavior. "Really, I'm fine," she repeated more firmly. That seemed to convince him, and he finally sat back down.

The house elf was practically jumping up and down as he guided the breakfast trays to them. "Dobby is so happy to see you are waking up, Hermione Granger! Dobby was so worried! But Professor Snape is making you well again!"

Hermione froze, her cup of pumpkin juice halfway to her mouth, to stare at Snape, who blushed and looked down, pretending to fascinated by his waffle.

"You made me well?" she asked in a hushed voice. "What was wrong with me?"

"That will be all, Dobby!" Snape growled from behind clenched teeth, shooting a severe look at him.

"What did you do, Professor? What happened to me?" Hermione asked quickly.

"Dobby is hoping Hermione Granger will come back to the kitchen soon and talk to house elves," Dobby chattered on, blissfully unaware of Snape's discomfort. "House elves are wanting to see her again, feed her good things. They are very much liking recipes from Hermione Granger's grandmother."

"Dobby!" Snape snapped, flicking his eyes from Hermione to the little creature and back again.

"Professor Snape must come too," Dobby went on, oblivious. "He will be very much liking new recipes Hermione Granger is making for him."

"Dobby!" Hermione interrupted, now blushing herself. "Thank you *very* much, the breakfast is wonderful, you can go now, alright?" She waved desperately towards the spot where he'd come in.

Oh, very good, very good!" the elf beamed at her. "Are you needing anything else?"

"We're fine, Dobby, thank you *so* much. Goodbye!" Hermione waved at him again, looking pointedly towards the thin, bright opening in the drapes.

"Oh!" Dobby perked up and stood still, his ears waving comically, as he looked back and forth between them. "Dobby is understanding now. Miss is wanting to be alone with Professor Snape. Dobby is going now. Goodbye!" With that, he slid deftly between the drapes and disappeared.

Hermione ducked her head, thankful for the long hair hair falling forward to hide her face as she poked at her food and tried to think of something to say.

"House elves are such silly things, aren't they?" she finally managed with a weak laugh. "Always babbling such nonsense."

"Indeed," Snape answered, toying with his food as well. "Indeed they are," he added for good measure.

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment, looking down at their trays.

"You should finish your breakfast," Snape said after a while. "You need it, especially after - " he stopped himself and quickly stuffed a big chunk of waffle into his mouth.

"After what?" Hermione looked up from her plate. "After what, Professor?"

"Good morning, Miss Granger." Professor Dumbledore stepped through the curtains and walked around to the right side of her bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Good morning, Professor," she said, sitting up and smiling brightly. "I feel wonderful, thank you."

"Professor." Dumbledore nodded to Snape, who nodded back and busied himself with another bit of waffle.

"I trust you slept well?" The Headmaster turned his attention back to Hermione.

"Yes, sir," she replied. "But I still don't understand why I'm here. What exactly - "

"All your questions will be answered, my dear, I promise," said Dumbledore, taking the other chair beside her bed. "But only after you've finished your breakfast. Both of you." He looked pointedly at Snape, who lowered his eyes and continued eating wordlessly.

Dumbledore sat in thoughtful silence and watched as they finished every bite of food on their plates. When they were through, he waved his hand, and the trays disappeared with a small popping noise.

"Now, Miss Granger, we may discuss what happened to you last night. Ah - but first - " He raised his hand. _"Tholus Silentium,"_ he intoned.

Hermione looked around, waiting for something to happen, but nothing did. "What was that?" she asked, arranging her pillows so she could sit more comfortably.

"The Dome of Silence, my dear," Dumbledore replied with a secretive little smile. "Quite useful, really. Now we may speak privately. No one can hear us."

"What happened last night?" Hermione leaned forward as she addressed Dumbledore.

He regarded her intently for a moment. "You have no memory at all?"

Hermione frowned and looked up as she searched her brain. "Well..." she began carefully. "I think I threw up, and it smelled horrible - awful black stuff that looked like tar."

"Yes, yes...anything else? Do you remember where that happened?" Dumbledore sat forward as well.

"In...Professor Snape's office?" she looked quizzically from one man to the other, waiting for confirmation.

"That's right," said Dumbledore. "And do you remember why you went there?"

Another frown as she tried again to piece together her memory. "I needed help with something..." She sat in silent thought for a few moments, and the two men exchanged a look across her bed.

"Perhaps this will jog your memory," Dumbledore offered. "Do the words _Lumos Cardia_ mean anything to you?"

Her face brightened. "That's an incantation," she whispered. "Yes, that's it. I used it to..." The bright expression froze into one of surprise, then shock, then fear. "Oh...oh...oh my god..."

Hermione's eyes went straight to Snape's face, and it all rushed back in an enormous wave. They both looked away quickly, overwhelmed by the sudden tide of emotions.

"Yes, yes, I know it's all a bit overwhelming," said Dumbledore kindly. "But we must get past all that for now and concentrate on the matter at hand, which is your safety and well-being, Miss Granger."

She looked a bit fearfully at the Headmaster. "Professor? Am I...in trouble for using that spell?"

Dumbledore regarded her fondly, his eyes softening. "Of course not, dear girl."

"It's just..." she continued shyly, "I didn't know what else to do. He was in so much pain, I couldn't just stand there and do *nothing* - "

On the other side of the bed, Snape bowed his head and clenched his jaw, seeming to take a sudden interest in his hands.

"Miss Granger." Dumbledore leaned forward as he addressed Hermione. "Allow me to put your mind at ease once and for all. You are not in trouble, and you will not be punished. Any contact with Voldemort is punishment enough, wouldn't you say?"

Hermione nodded and wiped away a tear.

"As for the spell you performed," he went on, "We will say no more of it, and consider the matter closed. Agreed?"

Another tearful nod from Hermione. "Thank you," she whispered hoarsely.

"Now, on to more urgent business," he said briskly, leaning back into his chair. "The fact is, Miss Granger, that your actions have more than likely drawn Voldemort's attention to you, though he probably does not know your identity. And since it involved Professor Snape, he is now under greater scrutiny as well."

Hermione turned a tearful face towards Snape. "I'm so sorry...I didn't mean - "

Snape managed a grim smile. "It's not worth worrying about. It was only a matter of time until his eye fell on me again."

"You are in need of protection, my dear," Dumbledore continued. "And Professor Snape is the logical choice for your guardian, as he is uniquely qualified to defend you against the Dark Arts." The irony of the statement was not lost on Snape, as he had supposedly been vying for the DADA position at Hogwart's for quite some time. Hermione leaned back against her pile of pillows and covered her eyes with her hand as she began to weep quietly.

"I'm sorry," she croaked. "I never meant to cause all this trouble." She shook her head and let out a few little shuddering sobs. "I thought I was helping, and look at the mess I've made - bringing Voldemort down on us like this..."

She uncovered her eyes to look at Snape, and realized with a shock that he wore the same expression of deep longing she'd seen as he stood over her bed with Dumbledore the night before. He quickly looked back down at his fidgeting hands.

"You will also be trained in the necessary advanced self-defense measures," Dumbledore went on. "Though it seems you are already well on your way in that regard. Professor Snape will, of course, serve as your instructor."

"When do I start?" Hermione sniffed, wiping her eyes.

"As soon as possible," he replied. "Today is Saturday, so I want you both to take full advantage of the weekend to get plenty of rest." 

Dumbledore rose from his chair. "Your training will begin on Monday. It goes without saying, of course," he added, "That this incident and discussion of same will go no further than the three of us. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

"Yes, sir," Snape and Hermione replied together.

He placed a hand on Hermione's head. "You are to go directly to your dormitory and stay there. If anyone questions your absence last night, tell them you fell ill, I ordered you to spend the night here, and have just now released you and ordered bed rest. No one will think twice about it."

"As for you, Severus," he turned to Snape. "I know you well enough to guess that you will disobey my order and find a way to busy yourself with work."

Snape only stared at him in embarrassed silence.

"If you must work, then so you shall - but on my terms," the Headmaster continued. "You will remain in your quarters and have an assistant bring all work to you. I will arrange for your meals to be sent down."

Snape responded with a slight nod of acknowledgement.

"Your meals will be brought to you as well, Miss Granger. _Tholus Emovetis_," said Dumbledore, with a flick of his fingers. "The Dome of Silence has been removed. Guard your words carefully." He regarded them both for a moment as they waited tensely for him to go on. 

"That is all. You may both go now," he said, and waved his hands. The curtains around the bed swished open, then faded into nothing as Dumbledore walked away.

Snape and Hermione watched him go without a word, then sat silently, trying not to look at each other. Finally, with a sigh, she swung her legs off the bed to get up and discovered that her shoes had been removed.

"Have you seen my - " she began, but Snape was already bending down to retrieve them from under the bed, where Madam Pomfrey must have stowed them during the night. Still saying nothing, he calmly slipped them onto her feet as she sat there.

"Thanks," she whispered. "You didn't have to do that." When she stood up, he leapt to his feet as he had before, hands extended to help her.

"It's alright." Hermione waved him off. "I can walk by myself."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, thank you."

Snape cleared his throat and flicked his eyes nervously around the ward, relieved to see that no one else had come in. Madam Pomfrey was still in her office at the other end of the room.

"I feel I must point out," he said in a low voice, "That you placed yourself in danger unnecessarily by coming to my aid."

Hermione frowned and shook her head. "But - "

"I have survived many such attacks, Miss Granger, and would have survived this one as well without any help from you." He shot another quick glance around. "You committed a highly irresponsible act. Do you realize that you could have been killed?" Snape checked the room again before continuing. "While I am grateful, the fact remains that you are very lucky to be alive right now."

She stepped right up to the Potions Master, stopping inches from his face.

_My god,_ he thought. _I never realized how tall she really is._ They were almost literally eye to eye.

"I suppose that's *your* idea of a thank-you," she said in a fierce whisper. "I should probably be polite and and say 'Oh, you're very welcome, Professor, and I promise in future *not* to go risking my neck for you anymore', but I don't *need* your bloody gratitude. That's not why I did it."

Stunned into silence by her boldness, Snape stared in open-mouthed amazement.

"All I cared about," she hissed, "Was that you were suffering, and I wanted to stop it. That's all."

"I did ask you to leave, as I recall," he hissed back. "You should have listened. You had no business exposing yourself to that kind of risk."

Hermione's nostrils flared with anger. "When someone you - when someone's in that kind of pain, you don't stop to think about anything else." She stopped and glared at him furiously. "But if it's all the same to you, then next time I'll just bloody well let him *have* you." With a final withering look, she turned on her heel and strode away, her hair swinging with the angry force of her steps.

Rooted to the spot with shock, Snape watched her disappear through the door. The source of that shock, contrary to what one might expect, was not her brazen behavior, coarse language, or the fact that she had addressed him as an equal.

Three words kept bouncing off the insides of his head, echoing over and over as he tried to decide whether he'd really heard them issue from the lips of Hermione Granger.

_"When someone you - " _she'd said, then quickly corrected herself - essentially coming a hair's breadth from openly admitting her love for him.

Snape couldn't decide whether to celebrate or be scared out of his wits. And, as a lovely finishing touch, he'd sent the woman who almost died for him storming out the door to sit in her room for two days while thinking what a complete arse he was.

_I *am* a complete arse,_ he thought dazedly. _But it's just as well - it would never work anyway. Better to make her hate me now and get it over with than to ruin her life._

Suddenly the idea of two days alone in his quarters with no interruptions and no work was very, very appealing. He wouldn't even have to leave for meals. And there just happened to be two unopened bottles of good brandy waiting in his drinks cupboard.

Snape started walking, his strides long and swift and purposeful as his robes billowed out behind him, snapping like flags in a high breeze. Tonight, he wouldn't be tormented by unrequited love, or ancient spells that gave him feelings he had no name for. Not even the call of the Dark Lord would rouse him.

Because tonight, Severus Snape intended to get absolutely fucking pissed out of his mind.


	6. Reflection

The brandy, Snape decided that evening, had been an excellent idea.

None who knew him would have recognized the disheveled man nestled before the fire in a messy pile of quilts. He was barefoot and shirtless, clad only in a pair of dark blue silk pajama bottoms he'd clumsily changed into after three rather large drinks - all downed in quick succession on an empty stomach. His haphazardly discarded clothing was scattered all about his rooms, dropped wherever he'd happened to be standing when he removed it. On his desk sat the untouched dinner tray brought by a house elf (this time not the loquacious Dobby, Snape had noted thankfully). Heat from the fireplace kept the brandy bottle by his head at the ideal temperature, so the rich vapors rose to fill his nostrils when he lifted it to his lips.

He breathed in deeply, savoring the mixed aromas of brandy fumes and burning wood. The air moved in and out of him like warm syrup, and every motion of his skin against the soft fabric resonated gently throughout his body.

_Perfect,_ he thought, stretching luxuriously and burrowing his face into the quilt with a huge sigh. _Absolutely bloody perfect._

This was what he'd been waiting for - that golden moment when everything was in balance, and he was neither too sober nor too drunk. Now perhaps he could sink into the oblivion of sleep and stop thinking about everything. About _her._ He'd spent the entire day alternately pacing and trying to work (he'd decided he needed something to do after all) as the hours crawled by until sunset, and the highly-anticipated opening of the bottle now beside him.

He let his eyelids fall and pushed out a final sigh, relaxing into his makeshift bed. For the briefest of moments, he wondered how Hermione had spent her day. Studying, most likely. Oh, well. That wasn't his concern. His breathing grew slower and deeper, and at last he settled limply into the quilt, fast asleep.

"Ahem."

Snape opened his eyes in groggy annoyance to see a cloaked figure standing between him and the fire. Who the hell was waking him up? And why?

"Well," said a feminine voice. "I see you've saved me the trouble of undressing you."

Snape lifted his head a bit and frowned up at the woman, not sure he'd heard correctly. "What?"

She let the floor-length cloak slide off her shoulders, revealing that she was nude underneath. When it hit the floor, she kicked it aside and stepped over to where Snape was lying.

"Aren't you glad to see me?" she asked playfully.

He sat up quickly. "Who are you? How did you get in here?"

"I have my ways," she whispered seductively, lowering herself to kneel beside him. "Besides, does it really matter? You're the one who wanted me here in the first place."

"My god..." Now Snape could see her face. "Miss Granger?"

"Hermione, please," she corrected, stretching out on the quilt next to him. "If we're going to be friends, we should be on a first-name basis, don't you think, Severus darling?"

He was speechless. All he could do was gape at her body - it was amazing, just as beautiful as he'd always thought it would be.

Hermione arched her back, thrusting her breasts into the air teasingly. "What are you waiting for, Severus? Don't you want me?"

"Yes," he finally managed to whisper. "Oh, god, yes..."

Her hand came up and snaked around the back of his neck, pulling him down on top of her. The feel of her skin on his was beyond description, and Christ, her mouth was so sweet, it almost drove him mad. She writhed under him, moaning as he ran his hand down her body, over the curve of her hip...

With a gasp, Snape jerked awake. When he opened his eyes, he saw only the fire and what little of the room it illuminated. No cloak on the floor, and no naked Hermione.

"*Fucking* hell!" Roughly, he rolled over onto his back, raking his hands hard though his hair and letting them flop angrily onto the quilt. After taking a moment to calm down, he sat up unsteadily and reached for the brandy. It was empty. He set it down and flopped onto his back again, not noticing the bottle as it tipped over with a glassy clunk and rolled noisily on the stone floor.

This wouldn't do at all. He needed deep, dreamless sleep, not a night filled with useless erotic fantasies.

_I *knew* I should have used a bloody sleeping draught,_ he thought angrily - but his current state of intoxication made the use of such a potion too risky. Clearly, more brandy was called for. He rolled his head to the side so it faced in the general direction of the drinks cupboard and concentrated as much as his alcohol-fogged brain would let him.

_"Accio!"_ he whispered, stretching out his arm. With a wooden thud, the full bottle inside butted open the cupboard door and flew across the room at him.

_Slowly, slowly, that's it,_ he told the bottle, and watched as it hovered, then settled into his outstretched hand. Grasping it firmly, he lurched into a sitting position and pulled the stopper. This time, he decided, he would keep going until he lost consciousness. He threw the stopper into the flames and watched it catch fire, then upended the bottle and took a huge swig, coughing a little as he lowered it and swallowed the mouthful of burning liquid.

As it had done so often of late, his mind cast itself back, calling up images and emotions he rarely allowed to surface. He watched again as Hermione made her way up the steps to be Sorted, her nervous eyes lingering on him briefly, then flicking away. Since that day, he could never think of her without also thinking of light - always light. They were one and the same, it seemed to him. Especially now.

Over the years, she'd riveted his attention with her sparkling eyes, her eager intelligence and skill, her passion for all things magical. Like the facets of a jewel, new aspects of her surfaced and caught the light, sending tiny brilliant rays to pierce his heart. No one, least of all Hermione herself, would have guessed that she was far and away his Favorite from the first time he laid eyes on her.

But for many reasons, he could never let it show, nor allow himself to praise or coddle her. As hard as she worked, he drove her harder, secretly pleased as time and again she rose to the challenge. Outwardly, his manner towards her grew ever more harsh and dismissive, at times even cruel. He sneered in her face while his heart wept at the distress he caused her. So many times he'd opened his mouth to say, "Well done, Miss Granger," - wanting just once to see her look at him without fear - and instead watched her wounded eyes as he tossed out yet another scathing remark.

Not until the middle of her fourth year had his feelings begun to change, and so subtly that he was caught completely off his guard. One day, when she raised her hand to answer a question, he'd found himself mesmerized by her rosy lips, wondering how they would feel pressed to his own.

"Miss Granger!" he barked loudly, making her jump. "Kindly lower your hand. Contrary to what you may think, you are not the *only* student in this class with something to say!" He'd hated himself for the hurt look on her face as she put her hand down and sagged back into her desk. But he had to do it, to drive away the sudden overpowering urge to walk over to her and trail his fingertips down that soft, soft face.

He'd made himself concentrate instead on the Malfoy twit, whom everyone assumed was his *real* Favorite. Brilliant and greedy and cold as his powerful father, the boy practically purred like a cat under Snape's attentions. In truth, the only attentions Snape wished to give him were a series of smart slaps to his smirking face, followed by a solid kick to his cowardly little arse.

On that day, Snape's inner struggle had begun in earnest. As Hermione's womanly charms increased, so did the restlessness of his nights, filled with forbidden images as he tossed in his bed or endlessly paced his rooms. More than once he'd had to resort to potent sleeping draughts.

Summer breaks left him torn between relief and aching emptiness. It was then he realized how badly the days dragged without at least one glimpse of her face. He took most meals alone in his quarters, filling his time with potion-brewing and lesson plans for the coming school year. Nights often found him walking the grounds aimlessly, studying the stars and calculating the number of days until he'd see her again. And of course, there was no shortage of evenings where he sat with a glass of wine or brandy, mentally berating himself for even harboring such feelings.

Still, his spirits lifted and his heart fluttered every start of term as he waited anxiously for his first glimpse of her, knowing she would be even more beautiful than when she left. He looked forward to meals in the main hall, during which he was free to stare openly at the Gryffindor table as much as he liked. It worked in his favor that Harry Potter - who conveniently enough was always seated near Hermione - believed *he* was the target of Snape's apparent glowering.

This term - Hermione's sixth - had for some reason been the most difficult so far for Snape. His emotions seemed to have a mind of their own, running amuck when he most needed to keep his wits about him. Eventually, his long-fought battle had driven him to that pivotal night alone in his rooms with two small bottles, each of which offered its own solution to his problems.

Pulling himself with some effort back to the present, Snape gazed blurrily at the considerably larger bottle now in his hand. So lost had he been in his thoughts that he'd downed half the brandy without even noticing. And he wasn't even close to passing out yet. He knew he'd have one hell of a hangover the next day, but if it bought him a night of blissful nothingness, then so be it.

Suddenly, he remembered the fresh batch of blue potion he'd made to replace the one he'd broken. His brandy-sodden mind wrestled with the same questions: _Why it that bottle still there? Why have I never drunk the potion?_

And what if he had? What would have happened when she sent that glorious flood of light into him? Would he have felt nothing?

_Ah, but Severus, old boy, _he reminded himself as he took another swig, _You *know* better. Don't bother trying to fool yourself._

Again he replayed the moment when the forbidden book from Hermione's bag had fallen open to the following text, which even in his drunken state was burned into his brain:

_"The Lumos Cardia is one of the few Ethereal incantations for which there is no known counterspell. However, it is rarely used, as it can be successfully performed only under certain conditions. The caster of this spell must, **without exception**, be pure of heart and intention, and capable of unconditional love and self-sacrifice. The Lumos Cardia cannot be performed with negative intent; any attempt to do so will have no effect."_

_"Since this spell involves the projection of one's own life force, recovery time is usually required, the length of which depends upon the strength and skill of the caster. Performed in turn upon the weakened caster by a more powerful person who meets the above requirements, it restores the depleted life force, and recovery is immediate. However, strength is not an issue if the healer is the caster's own Geminus, as he or she will experience no weakness as a result of the healing process."_

The text continued, detailing the physical and mental effects experienced by both caster and target. But all that was beside the point. Certain hard facts stared him in the face, impossible as they seemed:

First, Hermione Granger, of all people, had successfully cast the _Lumos Cardia_ on his behalf.

Second, he himself had successfully performed it in the hospital wing to heal her.

Third, and most important of all - he had experienced no weakness or drain of energy in doing so.

"_Geminus_," he whispered slurrily, staring into the fireplace. "My _Geminus_."

Even hearing the words spoken aloud made them no less fantastic. How often did something like this happen, and to the likes of Severus Snape, no less? Trying to reason out how one bearing the Dark Mark could possibly meet the stringent requirements of this spell was currently beyond his abilities. It was just as well, he decided. Thinking was exactly what he was trying *not* to do right now.

Besides, he had unfinished business with a certain brandy bottle.

Several floors above Snape's dungeon quarters, Hermione Granger lay in darkness with the bed curtains pulled tightly shut. It was pure hell, being stuck in her dormitory all day. Studying was nearly impossible with the crazy mix of emotions rushing around inside her. Mostly she'd stayed in bed, more to avoid her roommates' questions than anything else.

The book bag she'd left in Snape's office had been sent up that morning. Naturally, the first thing she'd thought of was her stealthily-conjured copy of Advanced Ethereal Defenses for the Quaternary Post-Graduate Levels. A few handfuls of dust and a quick duplication spell had put the forbidden information in her possession for three days, after which her copy was supposed to disintegrate.

From the look of things, it had - at the very bottom of her bag was the dust, along with the pieces of parchment she'd used as bookmarks. Neither Snape nor Dumbledore had said anything about it, and that meant they hadn't found the book. Or if they had, they'd decided not to pursue it. Although relieved, she was also puzzled by their decision not to punish her for using the highly advanced _Lumos Cardia_, let alone question how she'd learned it.

And then there was the matter of how she'd recovered so quickly. Snape was right in saying she could have been killed - so how was it she was up and about the next morning, none the worse for wear? Dobby had said that Snape "made her well" - what exactly had he done?

Hermione rolled onto her back and stared up into the darkness of the canopy that overhung her bed. This day had created many more questions than it had answered, that much was certain. With a sudden burst of energy, she sat up and shoved aside the bed curtains - she had an idea where some of those answers might be found. 

Her trunk was at the foot of her bed, and inside at the very bottom was a packet of parchment containing every spell she'd managed to copy from Advanced Ethereal Defenses. Hermione worked quickly, looking around in the semi-darkness to make sure she was alone. When her fingers touched the packet hidden underneath her neatly-folded clothing, she drew it out and shut the trunk, once again securing herself within the dark confines of her bedstead.

Pulling her wand out from under her pillow, she made a light just bright enough to see by and opened the crackling parchment, paging carefully through it until she came to her notes on the _Lumos Cardia._ She lowered the pages to her lap after reading them over a few times and let her vision blur as she lost herself in thought.

_This can't be right._ She shook her head slowly in disbelief. Snape couldn't stand the sight of her. In fact, he treated her with the utmost contempt at every opportunity.

_But how else could all this have happened?_ _There's only one way he could have healed me - and that means there's no way he could possibly hate me. In fact, he'd have to - _

Hermione's hand flew to her mouth as she gasped in sudden realization.

_He loves me? _Her surprised brain blurted._ He loves *me*?_

With a start, Hermione realized that her eyes hurt, and she was blinking back tears of pain. The light on the end of her wand had grown so bright she couldn't see anything else, and her knuckles were white with the force of her grip. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, relaxing her fingers. Footsteps sounding on the stairs told her that several girls were on their way up, and there was no time to get to her trunk. She'd have to do it tomorrow, after everyone else had left the dormitory for breakfast.

_"Nox,"_ she whispered, extinguishing her wand. In the dark, she folded and put away the parchment packet by feel, hiding it under her pillow along with her wand. 

Hermione listened as her roommates came in. None of them approached her bed - the closed curtains made it clear she was either asleep or wished to be left alone. She snuggled down into her pillow and pulled the covers tightly around her as the other girls bustled about, laughing and talking as they got ready for bed.

Long after they were quiet and all the lamps were out, she lay awake, her mind turning over the events of the past two days. It was all too confusing - she couldn't decide what to think about Severus Snape. He made her life miserable, then turned around and saved it; showed uncharacteristic kindness in the hospital wing, then turned back into an arse the minute he knew she was alright.

_Could a man like that really be in *love* with me?_ she wondered. _Could he ever be in love with *anyone*?_

A sudden frightening thought jolted her heart, making it beat faster. He had to know all the things she'd just read in her notes. That meant he had to have figured out by now that she was in love with him. And that meant Dumbledore had to know as well.

_Oh, god..._ she moaned in miserable silence, pulling the covers over her head. _They must think I'm such a fool. How can I ever face them again?_

Tomorrow being Sunday, she had another full day to agonize over it. Her entire Saturday had been spent in exactly that manner - she hadn't slept, and had barely touched the food trays brought up to her by house elves. But even upset as she was, in less than ten minutes Hermione Granger was sound asleep.

Far below her in the dungeons, Severus Snape lowered his near-empty brandy bottle for the last time and toppled gratefully into unconsciousness.


	7. The Lesson Begins

For Hermione Granger, Monday morning brought a few fleeting moments of sleepy, blissful ignorance as she yawned and stretched in her warm bed, listening to the pre-breakfast bustle and chatter of her roommates. A perfectly normal morning - all was as it should be.

Then she remembered.

The weekend's events came rushing back, shooting a frigid burst of fear through her gut. She sat up quickly, staring in blind panic at the shadowy interior of her curtained bed as her just-awakened brain sorted rapidly through random thoughts.

_Snape. Potions Class. I have to go. I have to face him. What'll I do? What'll I say? What will *he* do?_

With a grim sigh of resignation, Hermione made herself open the bed curtains, get up and go about her morning routine of grooming and dressing. She hung back until the last possible moment, until all she had time for was a quick dash to the dining hall and a few swift bites of breakfast, followed by a sprint to her first class of the day. She noted with great relief the absence of Professor Snape at the teacher's table. He was gone during the midday meal as well. And, as they invariably do when one is dreading something, the hours until afternoon Potions flew by until at last Hermione found herself standing outside the classroom door, willing herself to go in.

"Come on, Hermione," urged Ron, tugging on the sleeve of her robe. "What're you waiting for?"

Heart pounding uncontrollably, she followed him in and took her seat beside Harry, bracing herself for whatever Snape had in store for her.

_You can do this,_ she told herself. _Just don't call attention to yourself. Don't do anything at all to upset him. Stay calm, stay calm..._

"What's that spell you're doing?" Harry asked from her right.

Hermione's head jerked around to face him. "What?"

"Your lips were moving."

"Oh." Hermione blushed and busied herself with sharpening a quill. "Just memorizing something, that's all." Harry shrugged and went back to arranging his Potions ingredients.

The room went suddenly still as Snape entered, casting a scowling glance over the assembled students. Hermione took a few deep breaths as she listened to him approach his desk at the front of the room, then forced herself to raise her head. Their eyes met and held for a split second before he looked away. It was exactly like looking at a stone wall - his eyes revealed nothing. Without missing a beat, Snape began the lesson, conducting his class in the usual manner, his surliness clearly none the worse for wear. By the time the lesson ended, Hufflepuff House was fifty points lighter, and four students (none of them Slytherins, of course) had been given detention.

There were, however, two notable differences in the proceedings.

First, Hermione had not once raised her hand, even though she knew the answer to every question Snape put to them. Predictably, this earned her a series of quizzical looks from Harry.

Second, and even more strange - during the entire class, Snape had not spoken to her, referred to her, or even looked in her direction. In fact, he seemed to have taken great pains not to acknowledge her presence in any way.

"Boy, old Snape was sure off today," remarked Ron as he, Harry and Hermione walked down the hall together after class. "Did you see, Harry?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. I could have sworn he was ignoring Hermione on purpose. Not that it's a *bad* thing..." He looked over at her, expecting at least rolled eyes and a lofty comment, but she walked along as if in a trance, lost in her thoughts.

"Hey." Harry elbowed her, making her jump. "What's the matter with *you* today?"

"Nothing," she answered distractedly. "Just thinking." She looked up as they passed the library and stopped in her tracks. "I have to look something up. See you at dinner." And she was gone. Ron and Harry stopped too, watching her retreating back with raised eyebrows.

"Wonder what's got into *her* lately," said Ron, shaking his head. "I heard Dumbledore made her stay in her room all weekend. She got sick or something. Think that's what it is?"

"I don't know." Harry shook his head too and started walking again. "Could be. She didn't even raise her hand in class, did you notice?"

"Yeah. I think everybody noticed." Ron swallowed hard. "'Specially the ones who had to answer all the questions *instead* of her."

Harry grinned and draped an arm over Ron's shoulders, giving him a vigorous shake. "Like you, for example?"

Ron tried unsuccessfully to duck out from under Harry's arm. "That's not funny."

"I liked the part where you mispronounced the name of that plant he asked about - what was that called again?" Harry's voice took on a tone of mock seriousness.

Ron shoved him, making them both veer off course and almost run into the wall. "Shut up, you," he laughed. "Let's go play some chess. That I *know* I can do."

"You're on."

Precisely fifteen minutes after the evening meal (as instructed by Professor Dumbledore), Hermione stood outside Professor Snape's office, her stomach twisting into knots as she raised her hand to knock. Tonight was her first Advanced Defense lesson with him - the first of many, she reminded herself. Given the events of the past few days, Hermione's feelings on the matter were mixed - but that was beside the point. Like it or not, they were both under direct orders from Dumbledore, and there was no avoiding the situation. Mustering her courage, Hermione rapped on the door.

"Come in." Snape's voice was quieter than usual, and had a strained tone to it.

_Maybe's he's dreading this as much as I am,_ she thought, carefully pushing open the door.

Snape rose from his desk as she entered. "Miss Granger." He gave a slight, respectful nod and indicated a chair before his desk. Taken somewhat aback by his unexpected politeness, she closed the door behind her, sat down and waited. Snape took his seat again and stared at his hands, which were nervously clasping and unclasping on the desk before him.

"Miss Granger - "

"Professor - "

Snape gestured for her to go on.

Hermione swallowed hard and started again. "I just want to say..." She stopped and shot him a nervous glance. "I just want to say," she repeated, this time in a stronger voice, "I didn't mean what I said Saturday. About...letting You-Know-Who have you."

Snape's expression shifted subtly.

"It was a cruel thing to say," she said, her voice softening. "I wouldn't wish that on anyone, especially - " She stopped and looked down, blushing and fiddling with her robes. Snape's jaw tightened a bit, and he looked back down at his hands, which were clasped tightly before him. After a long, tense moment, he spoke.

"I believe, Miss Granger, it is I who owe *you* an apology."

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise. This was not at all what she'd expected.

"My rudeness," he continued stiffly, still looking down, "Was uncalled for. You were undeserving of such treatment. I conducted myself in a most...unseemly manner, and for that I am truly sorry."

Her mouth hung open in shock for a few seconds. "It's alright, really," she finally said, her voice almost a whisper. "Think nothing of it."

"While there is no excuse for my behavior," Snape said, "it was prompted by...concern for your safety." He stopped, as if struggling for the right words.

"There's no need to explain," said Hermione. His obvious discomfort was making her even more nervous. It was clear he had little experience with this sort of thing. "Really, it's alri - "

"I did a rather poor job of conveying that concern," he pushed on. "As well as my...sincere gratitude for your help." Snape fell silent for a moment, then cleared his throat. "I hope you'll see fit to accept my apology."

"Of course." Stunned as she was, Hermione's voice was still barely above a whisper. "I...I hope you'll accept mine as well."

Snape glanced up at her, then went back to staring at his hands. "Consider it done," he said curtly. After a moment, he rose and stood behind the desk, his fingertips resting lightly on its surface. He was obviously relieved that their conversation was over.

"Your instruction in Advanced Defense will require a great deal of time and concentration from both of us," he said, sounding more like himself now. "Professor Dumbledore expects regular reports on your progress. As such, I felt it best that we...clear the air, so to speak. I'm sure you'll agree that a certain degree of...civility between us will help maintain the proper atmosphere and allow us to remain focused on our objective."

Hermione's face fell almost imperceptibly. "Yes, sir."

"Good," he said brusquely, motioning her to rise. "Come with me." Hermione followed him down the dark, narrow hall behind his office, then into one of his many storage rooms. This one smelled of pickled...something - whether animal or vegetable, she couldn't tell. From one of the shelves, Snape drew out a strip of dark cloth. "Come here." Hermione approached nervously and stood before him.

"Turn around." She did as he asked, and stood quietly as he tied the fabric over her eyes.

"What's this for?" she asked, reaching up to feel the blindfold.

"It's a necessary precaution," he replied, tying the cloth snugly behind her head. "Don't touch it."

Hermione obediently lowered her hand, then jumped a little when she felt Snape place his hands on her shoulders.

"Stand still." Again, she obeyed, and felt a sudden, indefinable change in her surroundings - the air was colder, and had a different smell. Snape removed the blindfold, and Hermione found herself in total darkness.

"Where are we?" Her voice echoed as if she were standing in a large open space. Suddenly, the room leapt into visibility, lit by torches set high into the walls. Hermione saw that they stood in a large rectangular stone room with a vaulted ceiling. It was windowless and bare of furniture, with a large stone door at one end.

Snape walked around to stand in front of her. "We are now in the lower levels of the dungeons beneath Hogwart's." He lifted a hand to indicate their surroundings. "I chose this room specifically for your instruction, as it assures us of the necessary privacy. Strong wards have been placed on its door so that none may enter except the two of us, and then only in the manner in which we arrived tonight."

Hermione looked at him doubtfully. "We didn't...Apparate...did we?"

"We did."

"But how?" Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "It's not possible to Apparate on the grounds, I read it in - "

"Hogwart's, a History, yes, I know..." Snape waved his hand dismissively. "A book you're quite fond of quoting, I understand. One would think, however..." He regarded her an air of superiority, "That someone of your supposed intelligence would know that written history is neither accurate nor complete."

Hermione thought this over for a moment. "But...but I don't even know *how* to Apparate."

"You'll learn," he said. "But until such time as you have mastered the technique, I will perform all Apparations. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then let us begin."

Hermione swallowed hard and watched as Snape walked towards the other end of the room, stopping about twelve feet away and turning to face her again. Without a word, Snape raised his hand, and Hermione gasped as her wand zoomed out of her pocket and into his grasp. Her feet left the floor, and she flew backwards to slam against the stone wall.

Hard as she tried, she couldn't move an inch, as though a great weight were pressed against her. A ball of pain exploded in her gut and shot through her arms and legs. When she tried to cry out, she produced only tears and soundless puffs of air. As the pain spiked and subsided, Snape approached her, coming to a stop inches from her face.

"Do I have your complete and undivided attention, Miss Granger?"

Unable to nod or speak, she hung helplessly against the wall and waited as more tears spilled down her face.

"Good. It's time the gravity of your situation was made clear to you." Snape fixed her with a stony stare, then stepped away and turned to look at her again.

"Consider your current position: I have disarmed you; I have rendered you both mute and immobile; I have caused you pain, though not nearly as much as I could have. And I have done all this effortlessly in a matter of seconds without a wand, and without speaking a single incantation. What does this tell you?"

Hermione just looked at him.

"You may speak."

Her tongue suddenly free, Hermione let out a little whimper.

"Answer the question, Miss Granger."

"Why?" she said tearfully. "Why did you hurt me?"

Snape regarded her quietly for a few seconds before replying, his expression unreadable. "Because, Miss Granger, pain is the best teacher. It fixes things firmly in the mind when nothing else will - its only beneficial attribute. One *remembers* pain..." His eyes grew suddenly distant, then snapped back into focus.

"I'm waiting, Miss Granger. What have you learned thus far?"

Hermione sniffed and cast her eyes around the room as she tried to think. "That I can't defend myself properly?" she offered shakily.

"That's part of it, yes. What else?"

"I don't know." She closed her eyes, and a few more tears slipped down her face. "I don't know," she repeated in a whisper.

"Allow me to enlighten you, then." Snape assumed the posture so familiar to his students during classroom lectures. "The enemy for whom you prepare is devoid of humanity. He is moved by nothing - not tears, not pleading, not pain. His sole pleasure lies in the suffering of others."

He stepped closer to Hermione. "You are nothing to him, do you understand? Your life holds no more meaning for him than that of a worm on a fishing hook."

"Then why would he bother with me at all?" said Hermione.

"Because you have made him doubt his strength." Snape steeled himself against the the sudden memory of her light filling him, blinding him. "And that he cannot tolerate. Your power both terrifies and entices him. It will eat at his mind, little by little, until it drives him to seek you out. At first, he will offer you a place at his side, try to use that power for his own ends."

"Never!" Hermione's eyes fired with indignation. "I would never - "

"Your cooperation would not be required, Miss Granger." Snape moved closer, black eyes fixed intently on hers. "The Imperius Curse would see to that. Assuming, of course, that you were allowed to live. He finds few things more disgusting than Muggleborns." He advanced on her until he was once again mere inches from her.

"Tell me, Miss Granger - do you feel I've made you suffer?"

Hermione gulped and tried to look away, but he was too close for that. "Yes," she finally whispered, not knowing what else to say.

Snape shook his head disdainfully. "You don't know the *meaning* of suffering. But you will soon enough, unless you get it through your head that this is *not* a game, not an extra-credit project to take up your spare time. This is the *real* world, the *Wizarding* world, with very real dangers."

He grabbed her chin roughly and forced her to look at him. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," she whispered shakily.

He let go her chin as roughly as he'd grabbed it. "I seriously doubt that you do." Shaking his head again, he walked to the center of the room, conjured a chair and sat down.

"Tonight's lesson is concluded. You may come down."

Hermione stared at him in shock. "What?"

"You heard me - come down from that wall."

"But - I can't - "

Snape sat back comfortably, crossed his legs and laid his hands casually on the arms of the chair. "We are not leaving this room, Miss Granger, until your feet are back on the floor."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut as more hot tears coursed down her already sticky face. She'd come into this not knowing what to expect, but not in her wildest dreams had she imagined herself in such a position.

_Bastard!,_ she thought fiercely. _I hate him, I hate him, I HATE HIM! How could he DO this to me???_

Gathering her resolve, she mentally ran through every incantation she knew. When she tried to speak a Summoning Spell to retrieve her wand, she found that her power of speech had once again been taken away. The room was cold, and Hermione started shivering against the chilly stone. All she could think of to do was hang there, glaring at Snape as he gazed calmly back at her at her from his comfortable chair.

_Bastard!_ she thought again. She wished fervently for Voldemort to come floating in and cast the Cruciatus on him, just so she could watch *him* suffer for a change. The thought sent an unexpected twinge through her heart as she remembered that she had already seen him suffer at the hands of the Dark Lord, just over three days ago in his office.

_I didn't mean it, I'm sorry. I know it's for my own good._

Fresh tears came, and she focused on the flames of a nearby torch, trying to avoid Snape's fathomless dark eyes as they bored into her. Once again, she set her mind to the task of finding a way off these frigid stones.

Three hours later, she was still hanging there. Her eyes had been closed for one. Snape rose and approached her cautiously, watching and listening to make sure she was really asleep.

_"Somnolus Extendus,"_ he intoned, waving a hand before her face. That would ensure her continued slumber while he got her back to her room. With another gesture, he lowered her gently until her feet touched the floor. She swayed a bit, and he caught her by the arms, letting her head fall forward onto his shoulder.

A familiar tingling sensation danced over his skin, the one he felt every time he got close to her. Come to think of it, it was actually a less intense version of what he'd felt when she defended him against Voldemort__ in his office. The memory of that night roiled up within him, bringing back the pure bliss of the moment when he'd felt her inside him. Snape slid his arms around Hermione's sleeping form and crushed her to him, sending an even stronger wave of sensation rippling through his body.

_My Geminus. My love. I'm sorry, so sorry for all this. But it has to be done. I can't let him take you. I won't._

With one hand, Snape reached up and cradled the back of her head. _"Lumos Cardia,"_ he whispered, no longer in doubt of its success. He breathed in sharply when he felt it begin - the slow, painfully sweet pulsing of his energy flowing into her. Knowing he would be none the weaker for it, he let this go on for some time, thrilling to the feel of her warmth and weight against him.

Finally, bidden by the lateness of the hour, he pulled back into himself and prepared to Disapparate. He returned Hermione's wand and summoned from the floor the blindfold he'd made her wear earlier. With a final look around the room, he pulled Hermione closer, and the two of them vanished.


	8. Intent

Tuesday was one of the days on which Professor Snape presided over two Potions classes. On *this* particular Tuesday, both seemed to drag by at roughly the pace of a frozen snail. Though he appeared intimidating as ever, his mind was caught up in both dread and anticipation of Hermione's evening Defense lesson. He couldn't guess how she might behave after his rough treatment of her the night before.

And then there was his late-morning meeting with Dumbledore. Eager to hear the results of Hermione's first lesson, he'd insisted on being told everything. Snape described what he had done, taking care to omit what happened after he lowered Hermione from the wall. If the Headmaster sensed this, he made no mention of it - but then, one could never tell about such things when it came to Albus Dumbledore. At any rate, he hadn't pressed the matter. When Snape's narrative ended, Dumbledore sat for a long while in his chair, staring into the fireplace.

"Miss Granger's potential is greater than you know," he finally said. "However, it remains untapped, and it falls to you to remedy that situation as quickly as possible. You spoke truly when you told her that Voldemort will soon seek her out. I sense that our time grows short."

"Then how should I proceed?"

Dumbledore spread his hands with a sad little smile. "Unfortunately, I cannot guide you in any specific direction. That is for you to determine."

Snape raised a puzzled eyebrow and waited.

The Headmaster sighed and settled further back into his chair. "Will you indulge me, Severus, and accept a bit of unsolicited fatherly advice?"

Snape cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. "Your advice is always welcome, Headmaster."

Dumbledore thought for a bit before continuing. "I need not remind you, Severus, that a man faces many battles in his lifetime. You have faced more than most, and there are more still to come. Many more."

Snape pursed his lips and looked down as Dumbledore went on.

"Often such times call upon aspects of one's character that, until that crucial moment, are unknown even to oneself."

Snape's hands tightened on the arms of his chair at the memory of healing Hermione in the hospital wing; of speaking the words and feeling for the first time his own essence flow into another person.

"Furthermore - and hear me out, Severus, for this will fall strangely upon ears such as yours - " Dumbledore sat forward and looked intently at him, "In every battle, there must be a victor. But there are times when victory is possible only through surrender."

Snape tilted his head to the side and frowned. What the hell was *that* supposed to mean? Surely the Headmaster was not advising him to simply give himself up to Voldemort.

"I don't understand."

Despite his serious expression, Dumbledore's eyes shone with affection.

"You will, dear boy. You will."

"Define for me the term 'incantation'".

It was now Tuesday evening. Snape and Hermione stood once again in the deep dungeon room he'd chosen for their secret lessons in Advanced Defense. He'd begun abruptly this time, with no preliminaries and no mention of what had taken place the night before. Truth be told, his mind was not fully on the proceedings at hand - it still worried at Dumbledore's mysterious words (which the Headmaster had left unexplained), turning them over and around in a vain attempt to get some kind of grip on them.

For her part, Hermione recalled nothing after nodding off as she hung on the wall. Her last clear memory was of an unruffled Snape seated comfortably before her in a conjured chair. She'd awakened in the morning feeling amazingly well rested - energized, even, despite the length and frustration of the previous night's lesson. She hadn't dared to bring it up, in case it set him off again, and she found herself stuck to something more unpleasant than a cold wall.

She frowned, a bit confused by his current request - of course, she knew the correct textbook answer. He *knew* she knew it. But why - 

"Come now, Miss Granger." Snape clasped his hands behind his back and tilted his head imperiously until he looked down his nose at her. "We don't have all night. The definition, if you please." He started pacing slowly back and forth, his eyes trained on her face as he awaited her answer.

"An incantation," Hermione began in her best classroom voice, "is the ritual recitation of verbal charms or spells with the intent of producing a magical effect."

"Correct," said Snape, coming to a stop before her. "And what is the key word *in* that definition?"

She frowned again and shook her head. What the hell was he getting at?

The corner of Snape's mouth twitched with what looked like irritation, and Hermione suddenly found herself once again flattened against the wall.

"Tell me, Miss Granger," he continued as though nothing had happened. "What have I just done?"

Not knowing what else to do, she answered literally. "You've stuck me to the wall again." She barely managed to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

He paced a bit more, then turned to face her. "Now think, Miss Granger. What was missing?"

_A heavy vase to the side of your head?_ she thought indignantly.

"I don't know." Her tone was a bit more biting now. She didn't see the point of all this ridiculous hanging about on walls.

"Very well, then." Snape considered her for a moment before going on. "The definition again, please."

"The ritual recitation of verbal spells or charms with the intent of producing a magical effect."

"And once more - the key word in that sentence?"

Hermione looked up at the ceiling. "I don't know."

"Do pay attention, Miss Granger!" he barked, crossing his arms in front of him. His mouth was a tight, impatient line. "The definition ... again."

Hermione swallowed and cleared her throat, her eyes flicking nervously over Snape's face. "The ritual recitation of verbal charms or spells - "

"Have you," he cut in, "At any time since we entered this room tonight heard me speak a single spell?"

"No, sir," she answered slowly, after a moment's thought.

"Yet you find yourself once again immobilized against the wall. By what means did I cause this to happen?"

Now Hermione was *really* confused. She opened her mouth to speak, but could think of no answer she hadn't already given.

"Your renowned intellect seems to have taken a holiday," he murmured, narrowing his eyes. He studied her intently for a few seconds. "Perhaps this will help - repeat to me the *second* half of the definition."

"Uh ..." Hermione began hesitantly, trying to remember exactly where he'd cut her off last time. "The ... uh, with the intent of producing a magical effect?"

"Now," said Snape, his tone slightly sarcastic, "Using your formidable powers of deduction, tell me how I managed to put you on that wall."

Hermione's eyes moved rapidly back and forth, unseeing, as she focused inward and sorted through her brain for the right answer. She could almost see it, almost ... it was so close. Again and again she ran through the definition, examining each word. Then it hit her. Her eyes widened, alight with realization.

"Intent," she whispered. "You never spoke a spell ... but the *intent* was still there."

Snape's eyebrows went up as he gave a small, slow nod of acknowledgement. "There may yet be hope for you." With a dramatic sweep of his robes, he turned and strode abruptly to the large, padded chair he'd conjured the night before. Once again, he settled in to watch her as she hung motionless against the chilly stone.

"The lesson is concluded," he said, steepling his fingers before him. "You may come down."

_Oh, no - not *this* again ..._

Clearly, there was nothing to be gained by arguing or pleading - one quick attempt to speak told her that Snape had again stricken her dumb. It went without saying that, just like last night, she would stay right where she was until she found a way down on her own.

_Or until I fall asleep and bore him to death,_ she thought. _I don't have *time* for this. I have two reports to write, and a test to study for._

Snape had to know that this little game of his was causing her to fall behind in her work. How could he *not* know?

_I was wrong about him_. _How could he *possibly* care about me? This isn't how you treat someone you love._

She glared down at him, her irritation turning to anger. How smug he was, the bastard, sitting there still as stone, just staring at her. He was probably enjoying every minute of this. Why, she'd like nothing better than to conjure that bloody chair right out from under him. What a treat it would be, watching his pompous wizard's arse connect with the floor. Hermione closed her eyes and pictured it in detail, almost laughing at the sight.

A sudden gasp from Snape's direction caught her attention, and her eyes flew open.

The chair was gone.

From his new seat on the floor, Snape stared up at her in wordless amazement. Hermione's expression mirrored his own.

_Did *I* do that?_

"Well done, Miss Granger." With great dignity, Snape got up and straightened his robes. "But it seems my lack of comfortable seating has not changed your situation. I suggest you try again." The chair reappeared behind him, and he resumed his former position in it.

_Oh, bloody hell,_ she thought, closing her eyes again. _I'll be on this fucking wall forever. I might as well have all my owls sent here from now on._

"Tell me," said Snape, "How exactly did you make my chair disappear? You may speak."

"Ahem." Hermione cleared her throat, testing her voice. "I ... I thought about it, and it happened."

Snape closed his eyes and sighed impatiently. "That much is *obvious*, Miss Granger. Now, in full detail, please - what did you do?"

Hermione felt her face go red. How would he punish her for admitting that she was angry with him? Even worse, for acting on it, however unintentionally? She swallowed hard and opened her mouth to speak. There was no choice but to obey him - otherwise, she could count on another evening of useless dangling while her homework sat untouched.

"Well ..." she began hesitantly, scanning his face for any sign of disapproval. "I, uh ... " Hermione stopped to clear her throat nervously.

Snape heaved another great sigh. At this rate, they'd be here until bloody morning. Obviously, she was afraid she'd be disciplined for what she'd done; putting her at ease was the only way to speed things along.

"I assure you, Miss Granger," he said, trying very hard to sound more patient, "You will not be punished for anything you do in this room, nor will your house be penalized in any way. What happens here is strictly between the two of us. It has no connection whatsoever to any other school-related activity. Is that understood?"

Forgetting she was immobilized, Hermione tried unsuccessfully to nod. "Yes, sir," she finally whispered, not quite believing him.

"As you are well aware, time is an issue here," he continued. "It is therefore essential that you speak freely during our lessons. Again, you will not risk punishment by doing so, as I have clearly requested it. I will continue, as I always have done, to speak bluntly as well." Snape rose elegantly from his chair and moved to stand before her suspended figure. "That being said, you will now answer my question." He clasped his hands behind his back and waited.

Hermione cleared her throat again before replying. "I was angry," she said simply. "I was angry that you put me back on the wall. I didn't see the point of it."

Snape's face showed no change, so she went on.

"I felt you were ... mocking me."

"I *was* mocking you. That was *precisely* the point." Hermione's mouth formed the word, _What???,_ but Snape cut her off before she could voice it. "You were angry with me."

"Yes," she answered quietly.

"You were angry - and then?" He made a prompting gesture with one hand.

"I, uh - " In spite of his assurances, Hermione still swallowed nervously. "I wanted to - get you back, I guess."

Snape raised an eyebrow in amusement. "You ... *guess?*"

It was Hermione's turn to sigh deeply. "Alright, then." Her voice had a definite edge now. "I wanted to get back at you for treating me this way. I thought it was stupid and unfair. I wanted to humiliate you, teach you a lesson. Is *that* what you want to hear?"

He stared hard at her before answering. "What I want to hear, Miss Granger, is how you managed to do what you did."

She rolled her eyes in exasperation."I just - *pictured* it happening, and then it *happened*."

Snape nodded slightly and regarded her through narrowed eyes. "Let us review, and perhaps bring things into perspective, shall we?" Turning on his heel, he paced slowly as he spoke. "You were angered by my treatment of you. You wanted very much to punish me for it. You pictured in detail the manner of that punishment. You were unable to speak, gesture or use a wand." He stopped in front of her, scrutinizing her face. "Now - combining these various elements, what would be your conclusion?"

Once again her vision turned inward, her eyes doing their habitual back-and-forth motion as her mind calculated. After a moment, she looked back up at Snape, apparently ready to speak - but she stopped herself.

_What if I give the wrong answer again?_ she thought. _What if I just can't see what he's trying to *make* me see?_

"Well?" Snape tilted his head and waited.

Hermione licked her lips nervously and plunged in - what was there to lose? "You purposely made me angry, so my intent would have strong emotion behind it, and make me *want* to do something." She paused and waited for him to say something, but he simply gestured for her to go on. "So ... even though I didn't use a spell, my intent was enough to make it happen."

Snape stood quiet and unmoving for what seemed an eternity. Finally, he gave an almost imperceptible nod, and Hermione could have sworn she saw the beginnings of a smile, just barely tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Bravo, Miss Granger," he said, almost under his breath. "You've taken your first step." Though he tried, he couldn't disguise the touch of pride in his voice, and Hermione's heart swelled at the sound of it.

It was then that she took a really good look at him. He stood at a slight angle to her in the torchlight, dark eyes glittering, lips curved in that almost-smile. The herbal scent she recalled from her trip to the infirmary was there - just a whisper - and one small tendril of black hair was out of place, resting on the pale skin just over his cheekbone. The effect was devastating. Her anger forgotten, Hermione's heart pounded as she imagined standing before him and reaching out to tenderly brush that stray tendril off his face, perhaps even press her lips to his ...

And suddenly, she was there, rocking backwards on her heels as she fought to stay upright. Instinctively, she grabbed at the front of Snape's robes to steady herself. His hands whipped out to grip her shoulders, and they stood face to face, mere inches apart as they gaped at each other in total amazement for the second time that night.

Snape felt the tingling begin as soon as he touched her, so strong this time it made his hands feel as though they were vibrating. Hermione was so close, he could have kissed her without much effort. In truth, it was taking more of an effort *not* to. The shock of finding her in his arms was almost too much to bear. Her eyes, big with surprise, hovered before him like two dark jewels in the firelight, and his chest buzzed with energy in the spots where her palms rested now she'd let go of his robes.

_I have to get away from her,_ he thought desperately. _Now, before I do something foolish._

He forced himself to concentrate, making the dungeon walls fade and the interior of his office reappear around them. When they had safely Apparated, he released Hermione roughly, shoving her away and stepping backwards so quickly he had to grab the corner of his desk to keep from losing his balance.

"Well done. Professor Dumbledore will be most pleased," he said somewhat breathlessly, not meeting her eyes. "You may go." His hand moved in a distracted gesture of dismissal.

Hermione stood there dumbly, stunned by what had just happened. Snape seemed to be in some kind of distress or pain, and her concerned eyes moved up and down his trembling figure, thinking to discover the source of his discomfort. They stopped just below his waist, lingering there for a moment before Hermione gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth in sudden understanding of what she was seeing. She forced her eyes back up to Snape's face and noted gratefully that he was too preoccupied to notice her staring.

"Thank you," she gulped, taking her hand down. "Tomorrow night then ... right ... see you then ... " she babbled weakly, backing towards the door and blushing. "Thank you ... good night ... " And she was out the door, slamming it behind her and taking off at a half-run to her room.

Inside, Snape gripped the edge of his desk and made his way to the chair, letting himself drop limply into it. With a tiny gesture, he locked his office door, then bent down to rest his forehead on the desktop, lacing his fingers together tightly over the back of his head.

This was impossible. He couldn't do it anymore. He'd come within a hair's breadth of giving in, and that was simply unacceptable. He grabbed two handfuls of hair and gripped them tightly, giving a sharp tug - he hoped the pain would help bring him around a bit.

True, he reasoned, he hadn't actually *done* anything. But what if he *had* kissed her? Would he have stopped himself from going further? Would he have been able to? Clearly, he was no longer the right person for this assignment - embarrassing as it might be, Dumbledore had to be told.

_In the morning_. _He'll be wanting my report on Hermione's lesson. I'll tell him then._

That was it, then. The decision was made. With a sigh of relief, Snape sat up and leaned back in his chair to look around his office before Disapparating to his quarters. Certain ... uncomfortable matters required his immediate attention if he expected to get any sleep tonight.

In her closed and darkened bedstead (to which she'd rushed without even undressing), Hermione lay curled on her side with the covers tucked securely around her. Almost as an afterthought, she kicked off her shoes and shoved them with her feet to the edge of the mattress, letting them slide to the floor from underneath the blankets.

Her head was still spinning with the events of those few seconds between coming down from the dungeon wall and rushing out of Snape's office. She couldn't stop thinking about Snape's odd behavior after they'd Apparated, the way he'd shoved her away from him, and what she'd seen afterwards. Although still a virgin, Hermione was old enough and educated enough to know what it meant when the front of a man's trousers looked that way.

But that, in and of itself, was not what shocked her - it was the fact that the trousers in question belonged to Severus Snape, and that she herself was the cause of his ... condition. Impossible as it seemed, after years of fruitless fantasizing, it was quite literally staring her in the face - he *wanted* her. Add to that everything that had happened between them over the weekend, and it was almost enough to drive her mad.

Hermione flopped over onto her back, then her other side, trying to get comfortable. It was bad enough, she thought, having to deal with her own unrequited desires. Now there were *his* to think about as well. And that maddening vibration, electric in its intensity, when she'd touched Snape in the dungeon. She'd barely managed to keep herself from kissing him.

_What would he have done?_ she wondered, shifting her position again. _Would I be in his bed right now if I hadn't stopped myself?_

She closed her eyes and shuddered deliciously at the thought of undressing in front of him, letting him touch her bare skin ... and what would that tingling feel like without clothing in the way? Come to think of it, she could do with less clothing right now - she was practically burning up in her bed. With great caution, Hermione rolled over and parted the bed curtains. Seeing no one else about, she leapt up quickly and changed her school clothes for a short, light gown, then lay down on top of the covers to cool off a bit and get some sleep. It was no good - all she could think about was the Potions Master, and the things she wanted to do with him.

_Homework,_ she thought suddenly, sitting up._ I have homework. I can do that, and then study for my test. *That'll* take my mind off him._

And it did. For a while, at least. She concentrated well enough on the written reports, but when it came to studying, she found herself unable to stay focused. At last, she gave up and closed her book with an exasperated sigh. There was nothing for it but to lie there with her heated thoughts and wait for sleep to take her.

_What's he doing right now?_ she thought. _Is he on fire like this too?_

Had she seen what was happening that very moment in *his* bed, she would have had her answer. And she would have been right.


	9. One Thread, Many Weavers

As expected, Dumbledore was positively delighted with the results of Hermione's second Defense lesson - so much so that he made Snape recount it twice, chuckling merrily both times at the part where Hermione made Snape's chair disappear. Needless to say, certain small details were carefully omitted.

"Excellent! Excellent!" the Headmaster beamed when Snape was through. He leaned back into his chair, smiling broadly. "I knew I could count on you, Severus."

The Potions Master blushed and looked down, fiddling with the empty cup and saucer on his knee. He had yet to inform Dumbledore of his decision. Now it came to it, he had no idea how to begin. What would the old man think of him once he knew? Would he ever trust him again? Would he be sent packing?

_I should have written my resignation already,_ he thought bitterly. _He's sure to demand it once he's heard what I have to say._

"You seem troubled."

Dumbledore's voice pulled him back to full attention. Barely keeping his hand steady, Snape cleared his throat and carefully leaned forward to set down his tea things.

"Actually, there *is* a matter of some importance I wish to discuss with you."

"By all means." Dumbledore spread his hands expansively. "Please, go on."

Snape sat back and clasped his hands tightly in his lap so they wouldn't fidget. A few slow, deep breaths gave him the time he needed to carefully choose his words.

"The fact is," he began cautiously, "I feel very strongly that someone more ... suitable should take over Miss Granger's Defense lessons." He paused, watching Dumbledore's face. "I feel that my continued presence will, in the end, be more of a detriment than a boon." Snape stopped again briefly, noting the Headmaster's suddenly grave demeanor. "I believe my association with Herm - Miss Granger is unnecessarily placing her in greater peril."

Dumbledore nodded in understanding. "I see," he said softly, reaching up to stroke his beard as he considered Snape's words. He sat that way for some time, staring wordlessly into the fireplace. After several minutes of tense silence, Snape could stand no more.

"Sir," he began, "surely another qualified - " He stopped when Dumbledore raised a hand for silence.

"Do you trust me?"

"Completely," Snape replied without hesitation, his brow creased with concern. Where was this going?

"Then it follows, does it not," continued Dumbledore matter-of-factly, "that I strive to be worthy of that trust? That my decisions are carefully weighed, and in the best interest of those who rely upon me for their safety and well-being?"

Snape's frown deepened. "Of course. But - "

"Severus, be quiet."

The words were softly spoken, but bore an unmistakable tone of command. Dumbledore sighed wearily and gave the man across from him a small, sad, apologetic smile.

"There is much I wish I could tell you, Severus - much that hinges upon your work with Miss Granger. But for now, all I can say is this - you alone are qualified for the task I have given you. Unless her powers are fully realized, and soon, she will be unable to defend herself when the time comes. And it will come, mark my words." He waved an emphatic forefinger in Snape's direction, "Only *you* can ensure her ability to do this. Therefore, your presence is far from detrimental - it is, in fact, *essential* to her success."

A long silence ensued while Snape considered his response.

"I would never presume," he said at last, "to question your judgment. But I'm afraid ... " Snape cleared his throat nervously. "I'm afraid that certain ... difficulties have presented themselves." He stopped and took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he now had to say. "To put it quite bluntly - "

Dumbledore waved a hand to hush him. "My decision is not negotiable." He settled back into the dark leather. "I'm sure that, whatever difficulties you face, you will deal with them appropriately."

"But given the nature of - "

"The subject," said Dumbledore in that soft, yet commanding tone, "is closed. You will continue as Miss Granger's guardian and instructor."

Snape pressed his lips into a tight, frustrated line.

"As you wish," he said after a moment. "But I must respectfully register my most vehement objection."

"Your objection is noted," said Dumbledore, gesturing for the teapot to float over and refill his cup. "However, it is my firm belief," Dumbledore continued, sitting back to sip the hot liquid, "That your difficulties need not concern you, as they will eventually resolve themselves."

With great effort, Snape concealed his shock at the Headmaster's words. The man spoke almost as if he *knew* what was going on in Snape's mind. But were that the case, would he not treat it with greater gravity? Given that, then, perhaps he meant merely that Snape would soon be relieved of his duties regarding Miss Granger, thus removing said difficulties. Then again, he'd already stated that Snape was the only one who could tutor her properly ...

Snape sighed defeatedly - it was all too baffling, and Dumbledore was clearly disinclined to enlighten him. There seemed no point in remaining, asking fruitless questions and gaining only further frustration.

"Forgive me, Headmaster," he said quietly, preparing to rise from his chair, "but I don't wish to fall behind in my work. If there's nothing further ... ?"

"Of course," Dumbledore said between sips of tea. "When duty calls, one must answer."

Snape stood and, with a polite half-bow, turned and left the room. Dumbledore lowered his teacup onto its saucer and waited for the sound of his office door closing.

"You heard?" he said, apparently into thin air.

"I did," a female voice replied from somewhere near Dumbledore's desk. Its owner popped into view and crossed slowly over to Snape's newly-vacated chair, lowering herself into it with a pensive sigh.

"So," she said softly, gazing into the flames along with Dumbledore. "It's begun."

"Hermione?"

Her name floated to her through a void, barely registering in her overwrought mind.

"Hey, Hermione! Alright there?"

She willed herself to turn her head and look at whoever was addressing her. Ah, Ron. He wore a concerned frown, and his mouth was moving. What was he saying now?

" ... matter with you?"

"What?" Hermione finally made herself speak, her voice a barely audible whisper.

"You been into Snape's potions cabinet or something?" said Ron, shaking his head. "Where *is* your mind today?"

"Oh ... sorry ... " Hermione forced herself to smile and ignore the sudden leap of her heart when Snape's name was mentioned.

_Lift corners of mouth, show teeth,_ her brain instructed.

"I haven't been sleeping well." She patted the open book on the table in front of her. "Lots of studying to do."

"You've barely *looked* at that book since you opened it," Harry piped up from across the table. "You've just been sitting there, staring off into space."

She gave what she hoped was a careless shrug. "You know how I get when I'm trying to figure something out."

"Meeennntaaaal ... " Ron singsonged from behind his hand, cutting his eyes over to Hermione. She gave him a good-natured jab with her elbow and started packing her book bag.

"*Now* where are you off to?"

Harry laughed and looked up from his copy of The Daily Prophet. "The library, of course. D'you even have to ask?"

"I've got some things to look up," Hermione said distractedly.

"You've *always* got things to look up." Ron took a sip of his pumpkin juice. "Why don't you just move in there? Save you a long walk."

Hermione took off while stuffing her last book into the bag. They watched her go, then turned back to each other and rolled their eyes.

_That Hermione,_ their look said. _Whatever will we *do* with her?_

Harry went back to his newspaper, but found himself staring sightlessly at the page as his mind wandered to his friend. Something was vaguely different about her, but try as he might, he couldn't decide what it was. She looked the same, and other than being overly preoccupied with the library lately, she was *acting* pretty much the same.

_Maybe it's nothing,_ he thought, making his eyes focus on the print in front of him. _I must be imagining things. _He smiled to himself as he read.

_All she ever thinks about is studying. What could possibly be going on in *her* life?_

Alone again in his office, Severus Snape winced at the sudden burning sensation on his left forearm. He stood still and waited, letting out a shaky sigh of relief when it finally faded away. Only a tiny jab this time, a small reminder that he still held a place in the mind of the Dark Lord.

_He suspects something,_ he thought desperately. _I can't allow him to sense her through me. But how to shield her?_

The danger to Hermione increased with every passing day. If Voldemort had even the slightest hint of her identity and true relationship to Snape, the game would be up. Memory modification was out of the question - he needed his knowledge intact to continue with her training. Not that it would work in the first place, under these circumstances. But maybe ...

He turned and plunged into the small hallway behind his office, stopping abruptly before his locked potions cabinet. Inside was the bottle of blue potion he'd been saving, the one intended to purge Hermione from his heart. He took it out, and it lay cold and small in his hand as he stood trembling in the gloom - there was no guarantee it would work, but he was ready to try anything at this point. With a swift, decisive motion, he pulled the stopper and poured the contents down his throat. And waited.

Just as he'd thought - nothing. No effect whatsoever.

_That's it, then, _he thought, closing his eyes in resignation. _There's nothing more I can do._

Bound by Dumbledore to spend his evenings in a closed room with Hermione Granger, Snape had his work cut out for him in more ways than one. If he could just avoid touching her, stay clear of that pulsing energy that made him want to cling to her, he might be able to get through this without giving in to his urges. And she might have a fighting chance against Voldemort.

_For her sake, Albus, I hope you know what you're doing._ Snape sagged against the stone wall and let his head roll back to rest on it.

_Merlin save us all ..._

_Damn, damn, damn!_

Hermione closed the big, leatherbound volume and returned it to its shelf in the library. She'd been here for an hour now, searching every likely book she could get her hands on.

Nothing. Nothing at all. This was hopeless.

_I'll *never* find out about this Geminus thing,_ she growled to herself. Blowing out an exasperated breath, she plopped down in a chair and laid her head in her hands. _Not in *this* part of the library, anyway. _Her eyes narrowed as she slowly looked up.

_I'll have to borrow Harry's cloak again ..._

As Hermione saw it, that was her only option - sworn to secrecy, she was unable to ask the librarian for help. And having seen the _Geminus_ referred to only in a book from the Restricted section - a highly advanced one, at that - it seemed unlikely the term was one to be bandied about in public. Asking Snape was out of the question, with this strange tension between them. She shivered a little, remembering the feel of his hands clamped onto her shoulders as she stood before him, how her skin had buzzed with energy where he touched her.

_Tonight, after my Defense lesson,_ she decided, and got up to repack her book bag. _I'll do another duplication spell when I find the right book._

Making her way to her next class, mouth set in a firm, determined line, she barely noticed the other students milling around her.

_I'll get to the bottom of this if it's the last thing I do._

Far away - but not far enough - a figure before another fireplace sat frowning, deep in an old, worn leather chair, and deep in troubled thought. He did not enjoy being troubled. It ... annoyed him. Not that anything *should* trouble him, being powerful as he was, with so many faithful ones awaiting his summons.

Still ...

He shifted and sat forward a bit. His bony fingers tapped out a worried and increasingly strident rhythm on the broad arms of the chair, drawing frightened glances from the small man who cringed in the corner.

"Come here." He gestured to the man, who came haltingly to his side, his hands toying nervously with each other.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"I wish to send a message." His voice was cold, thin, dangerous, a blade of evil ice trailed down the spine.

"Straight away, my Lord." The man backed away with a fearful, bobbing bow and ran to fetch quill and parchment. When his master's orders were written and sealed, they were sent on their way, firmly attached to the leg of an enormous, coal-black raven.

_I want eyes on him at all times, _the elegant, old-fashioned handwriting said, _or as much as can be done without rousing suspicion. Inform me immediately of anything out of the ordinary. You know what to look for._

Other than these words, and an ordinary-looking wax seal, the parchment was blank. It needed neither signature nor address, for its bearer traveled an oft-used path, and its recipient would know without a doubt the source of the message.

_I'll have him out, and that Other as well. __The old fool can't hide them forever, _the figure before the fire mused, his eyes narrowing.

_I *will* get to the bottom of this._


	10. A Change In Perception

"Well done, Miss Granger."

Snape's voice was expressionless, but Hermione nevertheless felt a thrill of delight at this hard-won acknowledgement. A week had passed since the night she'd magicked herself off the wall and into his arms during their second Advanced Defense lesson deep in the dungeons of Hogwart's. Both, for reasons of their own, had carefully avoided any mention of the incident. Snape remained stiffly polite, if a bit more distant and abrupt than usual. 

Tonight's lesson, like all the rest, involved levitating and moving objects without the use of wand, voice or physical motion. Snape's dry suggestion that his conjured chair be her first subject caught Hermione by surprise, as did his grudging smirk. (Of course, it disappeared almost immediately - far be it from *him* to actually have a sense of humor.) Hermione had quickly become adept at making the chair take off and fly around the room at will, and it had been three days since it last faltered or crashed into a wall. She was even able to make it hover in midair and perform acrobatics. At the moment, however, all four of its legs rested firmly on the ceiling.

"The lesson is concluded." He said this every night, his tone never varying. "You may bring it down."

Snape eyed his pupil intently as she concentrated on smoothly returning the chair to the floor. His own concentration of late had been (to his great discomfort) less on her education and more on avoidance of physical contact which, unfortunately for him, was necessary in order to bring Hermione with him when Apparating to their lessons. But even the brief presence of his hand upon her shoulder was enough to drive him to distraction for an entire evening. Given the seriousness of their situation, that simply would not do.

"It's time you learned to Apparate," he said when the chair was back in position. "That will be the subject of our next lesson."

Hermione breathed in sharply, her eyes alight with anticipation - this was what she'd been hoping for. It was happening far sooner than she'd expected - not only would she have a private tutor, but she'd also be several jumps ahead of her classmates. The excitement was almost enough to make her forget the dire circumstances that required her presence here in the first place.

"I've been told it's quite difficult," she said eagerly, stepping closer to him in preparation for their departure.

Snape regarded her through narrowed eyes for a few seconds before answering. "It can be," he said slowly, "for those unable to grasp its basic principle."

"And that is?" Hermione held herself steady under the warm weight of Snape's hand as the familiar tingling began. This fleeting moment of closeness was her favorite part of the lessons.

"Simply a matter of knowing," he replied, this time not looking at her, "that your so-called "destination" is already around you. It is merely a change of perception powered by intent."

Before she had time to ponder this statement, they were back in his office, whose atmosphere was surprisingly balmy compared to the chill of the lower dungeons. Snape jerked his hand away as though burned by hot coals - as he did each time they Apparated.

"Until tomorrow, then," he snapped dismissively, and swept behind the desk, where he seated himself and made a show of fussily arranging his robes. He didn't speak again or look up, instead turning his attention to a stack of waiting essay parchments.

"Yes, sir." Hermione lingered for a few seconds, watching him, pondering once again how he seemed to loathe the touch of her. The man took obvious pains to avoid being anywhere near her unless absolutely necessary. On the one hand, that was simply in keeping with his natural aloofness.

On the other ...

Hermione blushed, suddenly recalling the turgid state of Snape's trousers on the night they'd returned from the second lesson. She bent to pick up her bag, letting her hair fall forward to hide her face. Of course, that *had* to be it - he was embarrassed, that's all, and wanted to avoid it happening again. Without a word, she slipped outside and started walking as fast as she could, her face still hot with the memory.

Snape froze, quill poised in midair, listening intently until her echoing footsteps had faded from the hallway. He forced himself to resume his work, but try as he might, he simply couldn't banish his incessant thoughts of Hermione, or stop the distracting changes in his body that accompanied those thoughts. Interwoven with the myriad inky scribblings on which he now tried to focus were mad visions of himself giving in, throwing aside all caution, saying _Come to me, let us finish what you have begun._ More than once, Snape had to reluctantly draw himself back from reliving his drunken dream of a nude Hermione stretched out before his fireplace. At last, in frustration, he threw down his quill and sat back to stare at the door.

_I'm trapped,_ he thought bitterly. _This isn't fair. I can't stop these feelings, and I can't get away from her, no matter how I try._

Roughly half his life had been spent walking the thin line between Darkness and Light, forever in danger of discovery. Only his knowledge of Occlumency and inherent magical strength had kept him alive this long, and both had been tested to their limits. Snape leaned forward, elbows on desk, to let his head drop wearily into his hands. What with the constant vigilance needed to maintain appearances, the occasional painful "reminder" from Voldemort (here he instinctively reached down to rub the Mark on his forearm), and now this inescapable situation with Hermione, his energy was being drained like never before. More than once in the past few weeks, he'd resorted to Strengthening Draughts, which he hadn't needed since his days as a fledgling Death Eater.

_There is always the Path of the Geminus ..._

Snape shook off the thought as he sat up and sagged against the straight wooden back of his chair. Without question, taking that road would resolve many of his current problems. It would also create a situation much more dangerous than the one in which he currently found himself. And he couldn't forget the risk to Hermione. Her only guarantee of safety lay in her continued ignorance of the Path, though she herself had (however inadvertently) set them both upon it through her use of the _Lumos Cardia._

The Path itself not being an option, then, a way must be found to sabotage her instinct to seek it.

_What I need,_ Snape mused silently, pressing steepled fingertips to his chin, _is a foolproof strategy ... one guaranteed to push her in the opposite direction, and out of harm's way._

He poured himself a glass of water and began mentally ticking off the facts as he knew them.

For one (he thought as he sipped), there was no chance that Hermione or any other student would run across written information regarding the Geminus (Dumbledore himself had seen to that decades ago, when he'd taken over as Headmaster), nor could she ask about it, for that would require her revealing where she'd seen the term in the first place.

Second, she didn't know that he'd found the forbidden book in her bag - therefore, she was unaware of how much he really knew. This would work in his favor, Snape reasoned, absently rolling the water glass between his hands. He would simply behave as if nothing unusual were going on - outside of their secret lessons, of course. Maintaining an impenetrable facade was second nature to him after all these years. His increasingly cold demeanor would cause Hermione to doubt her feelings for him, as well as remove any hope they might be reciprocated.

Third - and possibly most crucial - Dumbledore had no idea that Snape had stumbled across his own Geminus. Even if he did suspect, the use of the Lumos Cardia was not enough on its own to prove that assumption. Only one thing could reveal without doubt the true nature of Snape's connection to Hermione, and then only to those few who were able to to perceive it.

_And that,_ he resolved, _is not about to happen. Not while I have a say in the matter._

The following evening, it was all Hermione could do not to run at top speed to Snape's office. Apparation, at long last ... she could hardly believe it. Ron and Harry would simply die of jealousy if they knew.

_Then again, perhaps not,_ she reminded herself, _considering the instructor ..._

Trembling with suppressed excitement, Hermione knocked softly on the thick wooden door of Snape's office, waiting for his usual muttered "Come in" and the sound of clicking locks as he dropped the wards to allow her in. She knew he'd given several students detention, but all had been been sent (as they had been since the secret instruction had begun) to serve it with one of his Potions assistants, freeing Snape for the evening. He wasted no time in getting them to their private dungeon, where he released her shoulder and stepped well away from her before starting the night's lesson.

"I'm sure I would be correct," he began, "in assuming that you've spent a great deal of time researching the art of Apparation."

"Yes, sir." Hermione nodded eagerly, her hands excitedly fiddling with her robes. In fact, she'd spent every spare moment (skipping both lunch and dinner) in the library doing just that.

"Good. Then you can repeat for me its base equation." He clasped his hands behind his back and waited.

"Destination equals perception plus intent," she answered without hesitation.

"Correct." Snape's head tilted back as he regarded her down the generous length of his nose. "However, theory and practice are clearly not the same thing ... so, let us see if you truly do *know* it." He turned and strode to the other end of the room, pivoting crisply to face her again. Hermione watched wordlessly, waiting for him to speak. After a few moments, Snape tightened his lips and gestured impatiently.

"What are you waiting for?" he snapped. "Come here."

Obediently, Hermione started walking towards him, only to be stopped by his upraised hand. Freezing in her tracks, she gave him a puzzled frown.

"Apparate, Miss Granger. Apparate!"

She opened her mouth to protest, and closed it again just as quickly. Excuses were useless here. All she could think to do was concentrate and hope that something would happen. For truly, despite all her research, she still hadn't a clue how to put it into operation. Several seconds dragged by as Hermione bent her mind to the task, imagined herself standing before Snape as she had the night she released herself from the wall. It all came flooding back - the firelight, the faint herbal scent of his hair, his black eyes boring into her, her all-consuming desire to be near him ...

In a flash, she found herself once again struggling for balance as she grabbed at Snape's robes for support. He seemed prepared this time for Hermione's sudden arrival, and simply stood still and waited for her to regain her footing and let go.

"I did it!" she breathed happily, smiling up at him.

"No, Miss Granger," Snape said tightly. "You most certainly did *not*."

She frowned at him again and shook her head. "What do you mean?" Hermione looked back at the end of the room from which she'd come. "Then how did I - "

"Allow me to explain." Snape cut in, straightening his robes and pacing as he spoke. "Your mistake is, sadly, quite common among beginners. What you have just done is not true Apparation, but rather a form of Self-Summoning. In short, you have Summoned yourself to a particular location - in this case, the opposite end of a room - in much the same way one summons any other object. That is to say, you merely moved through the air at a speed that made your movement almost invisible, causing you to lose your balance once you came to a stop. Had you actually Apparated, your transition would have been undetectable, save for the change in your surroundings."

Hermione nodded. "I see ... " was all she could think of to say.

"Let's try again, shall we?" Snape made a shooing gesture with his hand, indicating that she should return to her end of the room. She blushed as she complied, more from irritation than anything else.

_I *hate* it when he does that,_ she growled silently as she walked. _Pompous arse ..._

For three hours, Hermione moved back and forth across the room, and never once managed to actually Apparate. By the end of the lesson, she would cheerfully have Summoned her instructor directly into a wall, were it not for the fact that she had no idea which room she was in (having never used the door) or how to Apparate herself out of it. With his usual impeccable timing, Snape ended their session just at the limit of her endurance. She left his office without a word, fuming all the way back to her room.

This being a rare night without a report to write or a test to study for, Hermione passed silently through the Gryffindor common room, ignoring everyone, and went directly to bed. Not even the thought of spending time with her two best friends helped her foul mood. Tired as she was, she still tossed about for some time as the Apparation problem turned itself over and over in her mind, nagging at her with a strange familiarity. Finally, with an exasperated sigh, she sat up and leaned against the headboard, resting her chin on her drawn-up knees in the close darkness of her curtained bed.

_So much for sleep,_ Hermione thought with a yawn. For some inexplicable reason, she couldn't shake the feeling that she should *already* know how to do this. But how was that possible? She'd never even attempted Apparation until tonight. She yawned again and rubbed her eyes, her mind awhirl with the information she'd gleaned from her studies. It rolled maddeningly through her brain as she tried to pinpoint whatever it was she was missing. After a few minutes of this effort, fatigue took over, closing her heavy eyelids and sending her head nodding downward. And Hermione dreamed.

She was four years old, playing with her toys on the garden patio of the small house her family had lived in then. In their tiny enclosed patch of sunlit grass, her mother stood at a table filling flowerpots, thick auburn hair loose and flowing gracefully in the breeze. (In later years, when she'd become a professional, she'd started wearing it up, then cut it short - but as a young mother she'd gone about with it flying behind her like a banner.) One of Hermione's favorite pastimes had been brushing it til it shone, then carefully spreading it in a shimmering reddish fan over her mother's shoulders. The dream Hermione stared at it now, wanting more than anything to go to her, run her tiny fingers through the gently waving tresses that spilled down her back and gleamed in the sunlight.

The present-day Hermione jerked awake, gasping, her heart thumping so hard she thought it might try to jump out of her body. She closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe slowly, clearly remembering now the look of surprise on her mother's face as she'd turned to find her child, whom she'd seen that very second on the patio, now standing at her side.

_Calm down, think this over carefully now ..._

Hermione picked the memory apart, moment by moment, and realized she didn't remember walking out to her mother. She was just - there. And she definitely didn't recall losing her balance.

_Did I ... ? But I was so *young* ..._

Then she recalled the two-year-old she'd seen in front of his parents' tent at the Quidditch World Cup, using his father's wand to enchant a slug.

_Oh my god ... if I really did Apparate when I was four years old ... why can't I do it now?_

_Good question,_ she answered herself. _What's stopping you?_

"He's right - it's all about *perception*," she mouthed to herself in the darkness, "and intent. I knew it before, all I have to do is know it *now*."

A wave of joy surged through her, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing aloud. When she'd calmed herself, she returned to the long-ago memory, searching for that crucial split second when her four-year-old self had decided to go to her mother. If she could recapture that feeling of pure *knowing*, of unselfconscious intent, then it might really work. She slowed her breathing and heartbeat, made herself relax into the memory, seek out what she needed.

_Careful, careful ... don't chase it away ..._

At last, she hit upon it, a tiny glistening pinpoint in her mind, and reached out to grasp it.

_If only Snape could see me now ..._

For a moment, Hermione thought she must be imagining things - through her eyelids, the room seemed to suddenly grow brighter. She opened them to discover herself seated on the floor and facing a large fireplace.

_What have I done? What *is* this place?_

A sharp intake of breath somewhere to her left froze her in position for a few seconds - she slowly turned her head to see a tall, nightshirt-clad figure emerging cautiously from the shadows. With a nervous swallow, Hermione forced her gaze upward.

And found herself looking into the stunned face of Severus Snape. 


End file.
